


Loser for sale

by The_Chronicler



Category: The Losers (2010), The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Psychological Torture, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-10-26 05:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 72,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10780173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Chronicler/pseuds/The_Chronicler
Summary: Hackers have become the big must-have for weapons dealers. When Jenson is taken, can the Losers get him back before he breaks? Can they keep him if they do?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first Losers' fanfic. I hit a writer's block on it last year, but am hoping with a new audience her at the Archive, I might be able to bust that sucker down and finish it up.  
> So, don't be shy. Tell me what you think.
> 
> BTW: Don't own them, just paying homage to them.

Loser for Sale  
By The Chronicler

0o0o0o0

The squeal of excited joy made even Cougar wince.

Four heads turned at odd angles, four pairs of eyes finding the source of the ear piercing squeal.

Corporeal J. Jenson was too distracted to give a hoot. "Oh, my, my, my!" he purred at the technical wonder before him as his hands, ever so gently, caressed the sleek, silver casing. "I am in love." He looked up at his teammates. "Seriously: in love! Gonna need a best man. Bachelor party…"

His teammates exchanged mildly amused glances.

"What do you know?" Roque huffed. "Jenson's finally gonna get laid."

"Does it have a port small enough?" Pooch wondered.

Cougar smirked, shaking his head before he raised his rifle and went back to the business of making sure all stayed clear out their exit, a dented in garage door raised only two feet off the ground.

"Oooooh, don't listen to them, baby." Jenson continued to pet the computer, leaning close to offer it a snuggle. "You got all I need…"

"Oh, get a room." Pooch groaned, turning back to his job of watching the exit.

But the hacker was nowhere near discouraged. He continued to purr and romance the computer, petting the keys, receiving exciting responses of color and data across its fast and pleasing screen. "Oh, baby, you know what I like… yea, baby, that's the spot… baby, oh, just like that, baby…. Oooooohhhh, baaaaby….."

"I swear, Clay, one more baby and I'm guttin' them both!" Roque warned. "Screw the honeymoon!"

Smiling, Clay stepped up behind his young hacker and encouraged "Jenson…"

"Oh, ba…" Jenson stopped short and threw a glance at Roque who sneered at him before stomping off to watch the hall door. "…Man…. Boss, this is the Lady of all computers! She is the slickest, smoothest, fastest…"

"I get it. Love. Marriage. I-phones in the baby carriage." Clay interrupted, glancing at his watch. "Can you get in?"

"Man, I am sooooo in!" Jenson nearly panted as his fingers danced across the keys. "I have her in my grasp. Legs are wrapped around my waist. Hand is up her skirt. She's swooning to my manly…"

"Okay then." Again Clay cut him off. "Three minutes,Corporal, and counting." Leaving Jenson to his swooning and whatever else he didn't want to think of going on, he joined Roque by the hall door. "All good?" Clay asked in a hush tone of Roque.

"All good… so far." Roque answered in the same hushed tone. Then he looked Clay straight on and asked "You even know what the hell an I-phone is?"

Clay smiled, shaking his head. Instead of answering, he said "Keep it good. I'll send Cougar out in two. Bring up the rear." Receiving a waved salute, Clay turned to connect with his other two men.

As always, Cougar was completely focused, 100% deadly, his black cowboy hat pulled low, his rife at the ready. He laid flat on the ground, peering out from under the door.

Clay crouched beside him. "Cougar?" A barely noticeable twitch of the hat told the Colonel all he needed to know. Giving the sniper a pat on the back, Clay rose to find his last man.

Pooch was checking out a rather nice, heavily armored, heavily armed ATV. When he saw Clay approaching, he asked "Evac wheels?" There was kid in a candy store plea to his tone and big, hopeful eyes.

The Colonel once more found himself smiling. "If we get out all nice and quiet, I'll steal one for you from Black Water." He patted the man on the shoulder, reminding him of their mission, before glancing around to take in any corner that might need his attention.

It was an armory of sorts, a storage space for everything important to your worldly, indiscriminate weapons dealer. Everything from mines to machine guns to a highly sophisticated computer that could predict, pinpoint, and paint a target days before the strike (or some other confusing geek hacker crap that Clay just couldn't grasp to save his life [good thing he had Jenson]).

The Losers' job: get in, copy the apparently impressive tech Jenson was currently getting overly friendly with, get out without anyone knowing the better.

First part was a breeze.

Second part going well (for the exception of the uncomfortable witnessing of geek lust).

So far, so good.

That usually was when the Losers’ namesake kicked them in the ass.

"Huh." Jenson's sudden change in tempo caught Clay's attention.

"Huh what?" Clay demanded, stepping back toward his youngest Loser.

"What, J?" Roque teased. "She got herpes or somethin'?"

Pooch chuckled. "Talk about bugs in the system."

Jenson leaned back, frowning at his new lover. "This isn't right." he mumbled more to himself than answering anyone.

"What isn't right?" Clay again made a demand. He threw each of his men a quick glare, reminding them that they were on a mission and not chaperoning Jenson's Senior Prom.

"This is wrong." Was Jenson's way of clarifying the situation.

"Corporal Jenson!" Clay snapped.

Jenson's eyes snapped up to his commanding officer.

"What! Is! Wrong!"

The hacker waved a hand at the computer. "It's all window dressing." When Clay's eyes narrowed dangerously, Jenson hurried on to explain "The program is there, but it doesn't work."

"How do you know it doesn't work?" Roque wanted to know. "You gave it a quick slap on the ass while you were mooning…"

"You were just supposed to copy the program." Clay reminded Jenson.

But Jenson was shaking his head. "The prediction system is sound in the bases, but, brush away the encryption algorithms, and there's no path that accounts for the variables of…"

"Hey!" Clay interrupted. When Jenson looked up at him, he reminded the kid "Stupid it down some, would you."

The kid shrugged. "Pretty pictures. But any geniuses hacker can tell there isn't anything else here." He scratched his chin. "Just a shiny bobble."

Pooch huffed. "All this trouble for a pretty bobble? Coulda just snatched one off Cougar's fishing pole."

Clay frowned for only half a second before his head snapped about to see Roque suddenly just as alarmed as he was. "A lure?"

"A trap!" Roque snarled.

"Everyone out!" Clay snapped out orders. "Cougar, get to high ground, give us cover! Pooch..."

"Boss, I could tag this thing… find out where it came from…. Who set us up…" Jenson was offering, already tapping away at the keys.

"Leave it!" Roque snapped. He made a snatch at the kid on his way back, but something suddenly hit him in the shoulder, spinning him away from Jenson.

"Roque!" Jenson cried, leaping after him. He was only a step away when he was tackled from the side, slammed to the ground in the opposite direction of his team.

Men came pouring in from every opening into the room. From under the garage door, through the hall door, out from within the ATV… within a breath, there were fifteen guns trained on the four members of the Losers.

Pooch was backed up against the ATV, being disarmed by one man, while another five kept him in their sights.  
Roque was snarling and growling as he grasped his bleeding shoulder. One man was trying to pull his weapon away and, when Roque took a weak swing at him, he kicked the downed Loser in the head, dazing him long enough to be disarmed.

Jenson was struggling on the floor, wrestling with a pair, but there was a quick punch to the face, bouncing his head back against the cement. A nasty sounding thud and Jenson lost the fight.

Lt. Colonel Franklin Clay stood in the center of the room, hands held out, as numerous weapons settled on him. Defeated before they could even think to respond.

They had been so utterly blindsided that there was no fighting back. He had led his men right into a damn ambush! They were dead by rights! He knew it!

And that's what had Clay pausing. Why were they still alive?

"Gentle! Gentle!" called a tall, well-dressed man, holding his hands up to the men on top of Jenson. "No damaging of the goods." He waved the men to drag the hacker to his feet. Stepping up to their prisoner, he took Jenson by the chin and turned his face up. Wincing, he offered "Ooooh, sorry about that." Tilting his head, he assured Jenson "You'll live. We'll make sure of that."

Jenson jerked his head away, his bright blue eyes glaring at the man.

The man smiled, perfect white teeth doing little to ease the feeling Jenson had of being eyed by a Great White shark. He looked back at Clay, then found the other two Losers. He frowned. "Where's the cowboy?" he wondered.

Clay was careful not to look around. He knew Cougar wouldn't be far. All the sniper needed was a good vantage point and they'd all be buying him a beer back at the base by tomorrow night.

Two of their attackers dragged the still snarling Roque back, dropping him at Clay's feet. Pooch was shoved forward to join his teammates. Only Jenson was kept separate, which Clay found more than a little unsettling.

"Roque?" Clay called, calmly.

"Fuck! What?!" snapped his second in command.

"You gonna live?"

"Just fucking long enough to fuck someone the fuck up!" was the snarled response.

"Pooch?"

Reaching down to help Roque to his feet, Pooch answered "Just another picnic in the Bronx, sir."

The well-dressed man clapped his hands. "Ha! I must really try a picnic in the Bronx."

Ignoring him, Clay tilted his head, looking at his hacker still being held with a dozen men between him and his teammates. "Jenson?"

"Yea… Yes, sir." The young Corporal blinked away bleary vision. "I'm good." he assured.

"Actually!" interrupted their host, "He is very, VERY good! Best damn hacker I have seen in a coon's age. And, considering hackers haven't been around all that long, that'd just about make him the best I've ever seen!" He clapped his hands and giggled as he practically skipped around Jenson like a kid who got just what he wanted for Christmas. "Oh, he's just tasty!" He reached out to pet Jenson's arm.

The hacker jerked away, but his captors kept him from moving too far.

Clay suddenly felt a rock drop to the pit of his stomach. "Jenson." He hissed, realizing what this was all about.

Only a good hacker could have found that computer.  
Only a great hacker could have opened the system.  
Only the best hacker could have discovered that the system was only bait.

"Jenson?!" Roque snarled, looking from his bloody hands to his young teammate. "This whole shit-up's about Jenson?"

The three Losers looked across the guns and enemy faces to stare at Jenson.

The young hacker's eyes went from narrowed confusion to wide with alarm.

"Who are you?" Clay wanted to know.

The well-dressed man hesitated in admiring his prize to look back at the Colonel. "Why? Plan on winning him back?" He smirked and shrugged. Giving Jenson a pat on the chest, he turned to face Clay. "I am a business man. I predict what will sell and I acquire it."

"You think someone's gonna pay for wimpy Jenson?" Roque chuckled. "Man, did you fuck up! When did geeks get in high demand?"

Their host frowned. "Since the beginning of the computer age." He answered, sounding more than a little put off with having to answer questions from such a lower life form. He shook his head in disgust at the burly soldier. "You never knew what you had! Don't understand a damn thing if it can't be beat down with fists… or stabbed or shot or blown to kingdom come! You are nothing but an ape with a gun, pounding away in the mud and blood… bah!"

He adjusted his gaze to include only Clay. His tone lost its edge as he explained "Blow up a building, and economies take a hit, but they rebuild. More jobs are created just to support the rebuild and protection of said building." He took a step forward as if he really wanted Clay to understand what he was losing. "But if you strike at the economy itself… drain the right accounts, leak the right files, know the moves before they are made…" he shook a finger in the air. "Discover the true power of a nation… of a world… you could collapse entire governments! Without firing a single short!"

"And you think Jenson will do that for you?" Clay asked slowly, carefully.

Keep him talking.  
Draw it out.  
Think!

He knew he had to get his men outside, out where Cougar could cover them. But how was he gonna get all of them out when a small army stood between him and the youngest of his Losers?

"You weren't listening." Their host shook his head. "I don't care about governments, who rules the world, who falls into shadow." He laid a hand on his chest. "I am a locator, a finder of rare goods. I procure them; I tidy them up; I prepare them for their new function; and, then, I sell them."

"What if I don't want to be sold?" Jenson finally managed to speak up for himself, giving his arms a jerk. "Think I'll do shit for you?!"

His captors were quick to jerk him back into place. Jenson wasn't small, but, in the hands of these men, he was beginning to look more and more like a little boy.

A defiant, wayward little boy, but little boy none the less.

The well-dressed man smiled. Not bothering to look back at his prize, he looked over the three Losers in front of him. Then he pointed a finger at Roque. "Kill him." He said it as if it was nothing. As if he was telling him to put out the cat or close the drapes.

One of the gunmen stepped forward, raising the barrel of his gun until it was level with Roque's snarling and spitting head.

Both Clay and Pooch jerked forward to protect their teammate, only to be shoved and jerked back into place.

"Wait!" Jenson yelled, jerking against his captors. "Stop! Don't!"

Their host snapped up a hand.

The gunman's finger froze in mid-squeeze.

Slowly, the well-dressed man turned his head to look back over his shoulder. "Yes?" he asked expectantly.

Jenson's eyes were big as he looked from their host to Roque.

"Don't you do it, kid!" Roque warned. "Don't you give that fuckin' bastard a thing! Not for me!"

Big blue eyes turned up to find Clay, desperate for him to say something, to give him an order, to tell him what to do.

Clay pulled against his captors until one jabbed a gun muzzle in his gut, doubling him over.

Their host began to lower his hand.

"Wait! Fine! Whatever!" Jenson quickly gave in.

The well-dressed man spun about on the balls of his feet and stepped back to his prize. He gave Jenson a pat on the cheek. "'Course you will. 'Course you will." He purred. He glanced down at his watch. "Well, off we go. Say bye-bye to your friends, now."

"You kill them and I won't do shit!" Jenson warned. "You put me in front of a computer and I'll bring down your economics!"

The man took a step back and looked him up and down slowly. His smile never wavered. "I do believe you." He admitted. "No worries, love. Long as we part all nice and friendly, not one of my men will put a bullet…" he paused to glance back at Roque. "Well, not another bullet in any of your precious, little friends." He held up three fingers. "Scouts honor."

Blue eyes once again sought out Clay.

Clay fought the urge to just fuck it! And dive after his man.  
Take the bullet!  
Take A LOT of bullets!  
But don't let them walk out of this damn joint with Jenson!  
Not his man!

But then those blue eyes broke away.

"Clay… don't you let him go!" Roque hissed. It was the closest the big man would ever come to pleading. He knew, if Jenson walked out that door, the chances of ever seeing the kid alive again were next to zilch.

"J, we got you, man." Pooch called to his friend. He didn't give a damn about the odds. He was ready to fight for him… right here, right now, go down in a hail of bullets… rather die trying, than do shit nothing!

But Jenson shook his head. Not looking at them, he just shook his head.

With a twirl of his finger, the well-dressed man started the men holding Jenson back for the hall door.

"Jake!" Clay suddenly called before they could push him through the door. When Jenson looked back at him, grabbing the door frame so he could stop for one last hope, Clay swore to him "I will find you! I will get you back!"

The kid actually forced a smile and a half-hearted shrug. "I know." He answered. Then his fingers had been pride from the door frame and he was hustled out of sight.

Humming to himself, the well-dressed man started to follow his men.

"Who are you?" Clay demanded one more time.

The man paused, turning and looking at him as if he had almost forgotten that he was even there. After a moment's thought, he shrugged. "Mr. Blond will do."

"Really?" Pooch huffed. "Mr. Blond? Get real!"

Mr. Blond gave a deep bow, before waving to one of his men. "Take them out of the garage to kill them. I wouldn't want to upset my new toy."

"Wait a minute!" Pooch protested. "What about that whole no bullets thing?"

Mr. Blond sighed. "Very well. No bullets." He threw the Losers a smile. "Lots of ways to kill a body that have nothing at all to do with bullets." He was chuckling to himself as he left the room.

"Well, shit." Roque cussed, but he didn't put up a fight as the gunmen started to shove them toward the garage door. "Just what the fuck we gonna do now, Clay?"

"What about J?" Pooch wanted to know. He ducked under the garage door as it was being opened. They had to wait for it to raise higher before the taller Clay and Roque were pushed under. "We gotta get him back. Boss, they're gonna screw him up one way then another!"

Clay didn't answer as he carefully took in the sites.

Only eight men had been left to take care of them. The other seven went with Jenson and Mr. Blond. The ground was open, sight was clear. Gate was open, the jungle beyond looked empty of everything but poop flinging monkeys and snakes. Somewhere beyond the building they had just left was the sound of a chopper.  
Apparently Mr. Blond wasn't planning on hanging around, risking Jenson of finding out what happened to the Losers.

"First thing's first." Roque growled. "Save our own butts. Then we can go do something about Jenson's." As they stepped out into the open courtyard, Roque stopped and turned to face the gunman who had been pushing him. "Touch me again and I'm gonna shove that pea shooter so far up your ass farting'll blow your fuckin' head clean off!"

The gunman raised an eyebrow. With a smirk, he jabbed his weapon at the Captain.

Roque moved with all the speed and brutality that he was famous for. Shoving the muzzle aside, a huge knife appearing out of nowhere, he sliced up through his tormentor, from groin to sternum. In the same, fluid move, Roque pushed back, sending the body slamming into the next.

Clay was moving even before Roque. Fist striking out, catching his guard square in the nose, exploding it like an over ripe tomato, Clay sent a kick at the man's knee.

Blinded by blood and tears, knee snapped, he went down with a scream.

Pooch was only a breath behind his teammates, moving lightning fast. Fist to a throat, kick to the groin… then he stopped cold, feeling the hard barrel of a gun pressing to the back of his head. "Hey!" he protested again. "No bullets!"

A whistle blew pass his ear and suddenly the pressure from the gun was gone.

Three more far off shots whistled through the air.

Three more of the enemy fell.

Leaving Roque and his violent temper and big knife to finish the last.

Pooch spun about, searching the jungle hills surrounding the compound. "Cougar?" he called out.

"Sure as hell wasn't your fairy godmother!" Roque assured. Stumbling to his feet, he glanced around, making sure there wasn't anyone left to kill.

"Get out!" Clay ordered as he grabbed a gun and headed back into the building and after Jenson.

0o0o0o0o0

Captain Jake Jenson kept looking over his shoulder.

He had no plans what-so-ever of going anywhere with scary Mr. Blond and his pack of gorillas. He just needed to give the boys enough to time to shake loose the goon squad and come after him.

So, name of the game was delay.  
Delay…  
Delay…..  
Delay….

Where the hell were they? Stopping for coffee?!

"Hey, so how about them Jets?" Jenson asked one of the gorillas, pausing so he could turn and have a conversation with the man.

He was answered with a grunt and a shove.

"Okay…. Not a Jets fan… hey! Did you see that Captain America movie?" He grinned at the gorilla on the other side. "Now, man, there's an American hero for you… right? Who'd have thunk, huh? Little, skinny, geeky guy like that just pop out a whole, big, red white and blue, good looking guy like that! Right? Am I right? But, you know, might not be that great when you have that sit down with your kid about steroids… you know?" 

Another grunt and another shove. 

"Not Marvel fans? Anyone read DC comics?"

"Mr. Jenson." Mr. Blond spoke up with a chuckle. "I doubt too many of them can even read." He shrugged. "Not exactly what they're paid for after all."

Jenson ground his teeth as he was shoved out the door. "You know, sitting me down in front of a computer isn't always the best way to keep me in control." He warned. "I'm pretty useless to you… to much of anyone, you know…"

Mr. Blond stepped up to walk at his side as they crossed a small garden. He enjoyed seeing the boy's eyes go big when he saw the helicopter.

The hacker dug his heals in, grinding the procession to a halt. He knew that, once in the air, there would be no getting saved. He was gone. So he made one last ditch effort to stall. "I'm just wasted money. Leave me here. Hell, shoot me if you like. Call it a learning experience…. A Bronx picnic!"

But Mr. Blond simply turned to face him and smiled that Great White Shark smile of his. "Mr. Jenson, I don't waste money. You see, there's an advantage to selling human weapons: if they don't fire as planned, there is always a whole other trade I can turn to." He reached up and patted Jenson's cheek. "A sweet, pretty, all American boy like you…." He turned and continued toward the chopper. "There's a lot of money made in the sex trade, you know, Mr. Jenson."

Jenson felt his chest tighten until his heart was in his throat. Yet, he managed to squeak out a "Huh?"

Mr. Blond waved a hand. "Gentlemen, perhaps Mr. Jenson would be comfortable if he was more… unconscious."

A sharp pain hit Jenson at the base of his neck.

"Ow!" he complained, hand snapping up to swat the needle away. "Well, shit, that wasn't coo…" the world went black and he fell forward into the waiting arms of the gorillas who quickly dragged him to the helicopter.

"Aw…" breathed Mr. Blond. "Sweet silence." He looked up at his gorillas after stepping into his seat in the chopper. "Why do I have a feeling silence is going to be a rarity in the coming days?"

"BLOND!" came a roar barely audible over the chopper's engine.

Gorillas and boss looked back to see Clay, flanked by his Losers, coming through the garden toward them.  
"My. He does look piss." Mr. Blond observed. "Do kill him for me." He gave his last order, before sliding the chopper door close.

Bullets bounced off the metal bird as it took to the air, leaving the well-dressed man's seven remaining men behind to face the Losers.

Mr. Blond knew his men were dead, but wasted no remorse on them. If anything, Clay and his unit just saved him from having to pay them off. If luck had it that one survived to be question, he had no worries. After all, they were just gorillas. They knew nothing of his base of operation, his plans for young Jenson, even his name.

They were in the air.  
They were away.  
He had won.  
The end.

Leaning back, Mr. Blond looked at the young man strapped into the seat beside him, head hanging silently on his chest. He reached over to play his fingers through that spiky blond hair.

Now on to the fun part.

0o0o0o0o0


	2. Chapte Two

Chapter Two  
o0o0o0o0o

Clay watched as his remaining men gathered before him.

Three men, each looking scruffy, pissed off, beaten up, and, for the first time in their lives as Losers, defeated.

They had searched the compound for the last two hours, trying to find some clue as to what exactly had just happened. And who the hell just took one of their own right out of their, supposedly, unbreakable grip. They spent two hours finding out nothing, but how completely, undeniably unprepared they had been for this mission. Nothing that they had thought was real actually was.

"House don't even have a real floor!" Roque was snarling. "Clay, the whole thing is barely standing!" He would have hit something if his wounded shoulder wasn't hurting so bad. The fact that he didn't hit anything told Clay just how bad the man was actually hurt. Not that he would admit it. Beyond letting Cougar dig the bullet out and stitch him up, he refused any more first aid, insisting that they were wasting time.

But Clay knew he would have to get the big man to proper medical facilities, sooner rather than later.

Cougar had run through the jungle, searching for a trail, a camp, any remaining bad guys. But there was nothing. Apparently all the crap for the ambush had been flown in. Hell, even the Losers had hiked in through the jungle for two days in the hope of avoiding detection.

"Damn ATV doesn't even have an engine." Pooch complained. He had admired the vehicle at first, but, when Mr. Blond had taken to the sky with his friend, he had jumped into the ATV in the hopes of, in the very least, head in the same direction and get some idea about where they were heading. Maybe keep up long enough for Cougar to nail the chopper with a tracker.

Clay yanked him out after he had bloodied his knuckles smashing the dash with his fists. Jenson might be the one taken, but Clay's whole damn unit was in trouble!

Clay and Roque had questioned the few bad guys who had survived the fight; Clay playing up the dark, emotionless killer, Roque playing up… well, himself. But they got nothing. They were too stupid or, surprisingly, more afraid of Mr. Blond than any of them. Even when Clay let Roque loose on them, all they got were a few obvious aliases: Mr. Pink, Mr. Orange… Oh, and whole lot of blood.

A lot of blood!

Roque had been really pissed off!

"Colonel, what're we gonna do?" Pooch wanted to know.

Clay shook himself out of his thoughts to look at his men, one at a time, before answering "We get Jenson back."

"How?" Roque snapped. "Just how the hell are we supposed to do that, Clay? You know where he is? Do you? You get somethin' from those little pussies I didn't catch?" He glared at his commander, challenging him. "'Cause all I got was a lot of screaming and crying…"

"Heard that." Pooch mumbled. He hadn't been thrilled with the idea of torture. But there were a lot of lines he was willing to cross if it meant getting Jenson back.

Roque continued to rampage. "Did you all find anything that tells us shit about that bastard? Pooch? Cougar? No?" He swatted at the air. "That's right! We got squat! Zippo! Nadda! So, tell us, Clay, just how the hell you plannin' on gettin' Jenson back?" He spat on the ground, grumbling "Shit, the kid's probably on the other side of the country by now, getting on with his prepping for his new function."

"A weapon." came Cougar's quiet growl.

"A fucking human weapon." Pooch emphasized. He looked up at Clay. "J can't do that, man. He's a fucking kid, for crying out loud! He can't even talk to girls without tongue tying a noose around his own neck! He plays video games all day, reads comic books… He's a kid…"

"He is not a kid!" Clay snapped.

His three men snapped to at his tone, their eyes widening slightly, heads coming up.

Colonel Franklin Clay stared down each one, telling them in no uncertain terms "Corprel Jake Jenson is a soldier! He earned that distinction time and time again covering each and every one of our asses! He is a soldier! And he knew exactly what he was doing…"

"Come on, Clay! Jenson didn't know shit!" Roque roared back. "He sure as hell didn't know where he was going."

Clay held up the shiny computer that had attracted Jenson's attention in the first place. "He knew his girlfriend would know."

0o0o0o0o0

His head felt so heavy.  
So incredibly heavy.  
And thick.

Like at the top of his neck was a huge boulder.

With a sandpaper tongue. Because his tongue felt like sand paper and tasted like it had been used to polish up an old, rusty toilet seat.

And that made his stomach twist, and protest, and cramp, and reject…

His throat burned with bile.  
His breath was muggy, rancid.  
His eyes itched and stung like world class allergies.

"Shit." Jenson croaked as he rolled over on to his side and coughed. "I hate tranqs!" He reached up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, but his hand jerked against a sharp metal bracelet, chain rattling.

His ears rang with the rattling, sending waves of over bearing sound bouncing around his skull, rolling his gut.  
With a groan, he buried his face in his arm. He held his breath for the longest time, hoping to all that was holy that he'd pass out.

A chuckle rocked the room. "Now, now, little lovely. Don't do that." Gentle fingers ran through his hair. "Breath. Slow, deep breaths. In and out… clear your pretty little head… so busy that pretty little head of yours…"

Jenson froze.

Who…?

Sure as hell wasn't the way the Colonel usually checked up on his men when they had been hurt. Roque would just kick him. Cougar would stare at him from the dark corner of the room. Pooch was the most likely to be gentle, and he'd likely slap him up along the side of his head for getting snatched and doped by some Reservoir Dog wanna-be…

Mr. Blond!

Jenson peeled one bleary eye open, then the other, forcing himself to look at his captor.

There Mr. Blond sat in his perfect three-piece suit, smiling that Great White shark smile, running manicured fingers through his captive's spiky hair.

The soldier jerked away so violently his wrist popped and cut as it hit the end of the manacle's length. He scrambled and twisted about, until he had managed to put his back against the brass headboard he was cuffed to, his knees pulled up to his chest. His eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on his host.

Mr. Blond held something out to him. "These might help." He offered.

Jenson's eyes flickered to the offering. He hesitated for a breath, before his free hand snapped out, snatched his glasses up, and fixed them on his face where they belonged.

The room came into a sharp focus. It was a small room with stark white walls. A breeze blew through a small barred window, lacy white curtains fluttering in response. There was one door, a big, heavy looking thing with a nailed board over where the door knob should have been. A ceiling fan circulated the air above the bed, sending out a low buzzing sound. The only furniture in the room was a thick armchair covered in exotic looking flowers, a nightstand with a lamp and small bowl water, and the brass framed twin size bed Jenson was cuffed to. A thin white bedspread covered the bed, rumpled from where Jenson had laid.

Mr. Blond sat quietly on the foot of the bed, watching his prize, wearing a look that was really starting to freak Jenson out.

The young hacker tried to back even further into the wall behind him. "What you doing?" he demanded of his captor.

Mr. Blond's smile actually went from Great White to T-Rex. "Watching you." He answered.

Jenson's eye brows rose. "That's…. um, yea, that's… that's not at all creepy… nope…" he grumbled.

His captor's smile never wavered. "One of your many wonders, indeed. Laughing at ease in a surely stressful moment." He complimented.

"Yea… that's me: grace under fire." Jenson mumbled. He stole a glance at the cuff biting into his wrist.

It was a simple, antique piece of metal, designed for a simpler time. A simpler time when chains were welded into place.

"Oh, would you look at that." Mr. Blond reached for his hand.

Jenson tried to jerk it away, but he was already at the end of his length.

But Mr. Blond paused at the jerk, looking from the bleeding wrist to the young man before him. "Skittish, are we? Now, there is no need for that. I offer only comfort." He held his hand out, waiting for Jenson to offer his own. When he didn't, Mr. Blond gave an exaggerated sigh. Taking a sponge from a bowl of water on the night stand, he held it out to his captive. "If you will not let me care for your wounds, then care for them yourself."  
The young soldier glanced at the sponge, glanced at the man, then, hesitantly, reached out with his free hand to take the sponge. Keeping one eye on his captor, he dabbed at his wrists, wiping away the trails of blood.

"Gently now." Coached Mr. Blond.

Jenson paused to glare at him. "What do you care?"

Mr. Blond spread his hands. "Haven't I mentioned it? I'm sure I have. Well, no matter. I don't mind saying it again." He brought up that Great White Shark smile again. "You…" he reached out to tap Jenson's nose like he was a small child, "… are a valuable commodity. Valuable commodities must be taken care of, treasured, protected… trained…" He paused to shrug. "Least their value decreases."

His eyes narrowed. "I am not a commodity!" he growled.

Mr. Blond chuckled. "Darling, we are all commodities."

The hacker looked at him, a snappy retort just on the tip of his tongue. But the look in the man's eyes stopped him cold.

Well dressed, well mannered, calm and in control, with the eyes of a predator that crawled down his prey and back up, taking in every bit of his prize.

Jenson tried to stay very still, to stop the shaking in his hands. He dropped his eyes, trying so hard not to let Mr. Blond see the sudden panic rise up in his chest. He felt exposed, unprotected, alone… scared. Everything he knew, that he had been trained to do… shit, he was a fucking highly trained, Special Ops, American soldier!... was gone. All there was were those eyes that felt almost as if they left finger prints where ever they touched his skin.

Damn, what would the boys say about this! Poor, little Jenson getting violated by a pair of eyes!

Anger suddenly swelled up and his blue eyes snapped up. "Shit, sell your own fat ass then!" he snapped.  
Instantly, Jenson regretted it.

Mr. Blond's smile flickered, fading. He cupped his hands in his lap. "Well, then… suppose I tell you, now, how this will proceed."

Jenson swallowed. "You say `been a blast' and let me go?" he suggested, though his voice had lost all power, the words coming out less than a whisper.

Mr. Blond called over his shoulder "Gentlemen."

The door opened and two large men stepped in and came to stand on either side of Mr. Blond. They both wore black slacks, creased perfectly, cuffed neatly over shiny black oxfords. Both wore tight wife beaters over thick, muscular chests. Arms that looked more like tree trunks rested at ease, huge hands clasped in front of them casually.

"May I introduce Mr. Pink…" Mr. Blond waved his hand to one, then the other "… and Mr. White."

Mr. Pink was the big white guy, his tan hair in a marine cut, his rusty colored eyes as unemotional as a brick. His shirt, like his name, was pink.

Mr. White's skin was as black as tar, his head bald and shiny. His eyes were black, the white a shocking contrast. His shirt, like his name, was also a shocking white.

Jenson offered the pair a frown. "Really? Man, that was a really bad movie… and I mean, come on!" He waved his free hand at Mr. White. "How typical is it for the black man to get Mr. White? Racist much?!" He waved at Mr. Pink. "And, shit, man, did you get the short end of the color wheel. Pink? Is that supposed to strike fear in the hearts of your enemies? Mr. Pink? Doesn't that just step on your manhood just a bit?"

Neither man even blinked.

Mr. Blond remained calm as he explained "I assure you, my prize, that Mr. Pink is quite in charge of his manhood. If so provoked, you may just find out."

Jenson felt his breath catch, his stomach flip.

Mr. Blond rose to his feet. "We use the practice of reward and punishment." He touched his chest. "I am reward." He indicated his two men. "They are punishment." He turned and headed for the door, speaking as he went "I am reward, protection, comfort…" he glanced over his shoulder at Jenson. "Desire… as long as I am here, you will not be harmed in any way what so ever. It won't be long before you will long for my presence, will do anything for the want of me."

"Humph!" Jenson huffed.

Mr. Blond turned to face him, leaning back against the door frame. He bobbed a finger at one man, then the other. "Cruel and Unusual Punishment." He renamed them. "They will demonstrate their individual talents as soon as I leave. I will return as I see fit, but, be sure, as time goes by, you will need to find ways to… entice my return." That said, he turned to the door again.

"I won't do what you want!" Jenson yelled after him. "I am not a commodity!" he insisted.

Mr. Blond threw him one more glance, batting his eye lashes. "I'm sure you will discuss it among yourselves." Then he stepped out the door, closing it behind him.

Jenson stared at the door for a breath, before looking back at the two men standing at the foot of the bed. Offering them a smile, he wondered "Don't suppose you all wanna have a friendly game of Blind Man's Bluff? Winner gets a night out on the town, worry free, slave chain free?"

Mr. Pink and Mr. White began moving down the bed toward him, one on each side.

With a last snatch at courage, Jenson warned "I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I must!"

That brought a smile to their faces.

Each a Great White Shark smile, a predator, King of the Jungle, rattlesnake… killers!

And Jenson was their prey.

 

0o0o0o0o0


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

0o0o0o0o0

"I will find you! I will get you back!"  
The kid actually forced a smile and a half-hearted shrug. "I know."

"Boss?"

Clay's eyes snapped open.

Instantly the scene was gone.

Jenson was gone.

Mr. Blond was gone.

Slipped out of his fingers like the wisps of a dream.

With an angry shake of his head, Clay blinked, and focused on the here and now.

Cougar was sitting beside him in the helicopter, leaning forward so he could see pass his colonel and out the window at the base below them. From under the shadow of the brim of his hat, he gave an ever so slight nod out the window.

Brow furrowed, Clay turned and looked out.

They were flying over the base, heading towards the landing strip. Most everything looked as it had when they had left… what, had it been four days ago now? Lines of tents, temporarily barracks that had stood for a few years now, spotted with little more permanent buildings that served as offices, armories, garages, supply depots, so on and so forth. A huge pavilion served as the mess hall, at the center of the base. The air field was on the far side of the base, separated by a defense perimeter, just in case the aircrafts were targeted, the base had some protection; just in case the base fell, the air field would be protected as a fallback position.

The odd bit, what had caught Cougar's attention, was the row of Black Hawks that sat at the edge of the air field. They were unmarked; pilots without uniforms standing by them; soldiers in black uniforms, masks rolled up, sitting around on the ground, working weapons to perfection; crates, just as nondescript as everything else, sat under heavy guard.

"Well, fuck!" Roque snarled. "CIA?"

Clay shook his head. "DOD." He corrected. He should have known. Should have known when they approached him last week. Should have known they wouldn't have been too far away when they returned.  
He held the small, silver computer a little tighter. "Cougar, you and Pooch get Roque to the infirmary…"

"What?" Roque huffed. "I'm fine!"

Clay glanced at him with raised eyebrows. Sure, he wasn't bleeding to death, but he was sweating and flushed. End of argument. He turned back to Cougar. "Stay together. Don't tell anyone about Jenson. Keep the mission team only." He ordered. As soon as the chopper touched the ground, Clay was out, sliding the door wider for his team to get out.

"What about you?" Pooch asked as he hopped out after Roque.

Clay glanced around. "Gonna find out what's on this computer." He looked back at his three men with one last warning "Look after each other." Then he was hurrying away, taking the gate furthest from the DOD men.

Cougar and Pooch exchanged a glance, before, one on either side, they began to direct the growling Roque toward the base.

Colonel Clay hurried through the base, heading for one building. He kept his eyes averted, feeling as if he was under watch the moment they had landed.

With the DOD on base, he had no doubt that was exactly what was happening.

Department of Defense…. Wonderful guys. Determined to protect the United States of America, even if it meant destroying the country in the process. Their theory: kill, least someone make a funny face at you. Oh, yea, and use and abuse your own to get the job done.

"Taylor!" Clay called out to a woman just stepping out of the building he was hurrying towards.

Commander Amanda Taylor paused, looking over her shoulder. She smiled when she saw who it was. "Clay. You and the boys back so soon?" Her smile faded as he came closer and she saw his expression. "Wait… are you…"

Clay stepped up close to her, leaving only the computer between him and her. "Need your help, Taylor."

She didn't hesitate. Only nodded and stepped back to open her office door for him.

Taylor commanded the computer science division of the base. She hunted hackers, digital terrorists, and other such computer age enemies. Often, Taylor had invited Jenson to her division, teach some of her kids some sneaky tricks that they wouldn't ordinarily learn from MIT or other legit schools of learning. Throw in those late evenings of World of War Craft, which, lets face it, she did run a squad of geeks… Jenson fit right in.

Not to mention, it gave her a reason to call Clay over. Let the kids play, while the adults… well, they had their own games.

Clay was scanning the room of computers and techs as he hurried pass her and straight through to the little room in the back, Taylor's office. Setting his plunder on the desk, he turned and watched her close the door behind them.

"What's going on, Colonel?" Taylor asked. "Are the boys alright?"

For a moment, the tough as nails Colonel dropped his eyes, looking like a hurt father. "Roque's in the infirmary. Pooch and Cougar are fine." He hesitated, closing his eyes.

"I will find you! I will get you back!"  
The kid actually forced a smile and a half-hearted shrug. "I know."

Taylor touched his arm, lightly. "Jenson?" She didn't need him to answer. She could see it in his face. Even with his eyes closed, she could tell. "Oh, no… Clay, I'm sorry…"

His eyes snapped open. Tapping the top of the computer, he looked at Taylor. "Jenson was trying to find out where this thing came from. Can you?"

Taylor looked up at him for a moment. She knew better than that. He would never, not really, open up. Not about something that hurt him like this, not about losing one of his boys…

Taking a deep breath, she looked down at the computer. "Well, let's take a look…" She opened the computer and took a moment to make a few taps. "Huh."

"No!" Clay growled. "No huhs, or this isn't rights, or whatevers. Please, just say it in plain, dumb downed English!”

Taylor smiled slightly, just imagining the conversation he must have had with Jenson. "There's already a trace working on it. Jenson must have already started it."

Clay frowned. "But he had only seconds… if!"

The woman shrugged. "The kid is smart as hell, Clay. He must have pulled one of his Cloud tricks…"

"Cloud?"

Taylor nodded. "Sure. He blows my kids out of the water every time. He stored a bunch of hacks in the Cloud so that, in a toe to toe with any other hacker, or a rush hack, he could just yank down programs already set up and ready to go. He had a trace ready to go and…" She paused with a few more taps. "And, damn, that is a bloodhound of a trace too. A damn hunter!" she whistled in appreciation. But then she frowned. Looking up at Clay, she asked "This is the Trap System, isn't it?"

Clay's eyes narrowed. "The Trap System?"

"DOD's been cannibalizing the Computer Science departments, trying to find hackers to go after it. No one's been able to pinpoint it… followed it to Hong Kong, New York, every major city and few unknown villages that just happened to have wifi… no one was ever able to get close enough…"

"Except Jenson." Clay ground the words out. "They knew it was a trap? You knew?"

Taylor shrugged. "I had my suspicions. A system that good, supposedly, would have been put to use by now. All it was doing, so far, was attracting hackers… a lot of hackers. Hackers, good hackers, are at a premium. Particularly hackers that can dance around my kids like they were fingerless." She shook her head. "I told DOD that. Told them it was a trap when they ordered the tracker."

"Tracker? They were already tracing this thing?"

The Commander shook her head. "Sub-dermis tracker… goes under the skin… they didn't care about the computer. They wanted to find out who would spend this much money to snatch a hacker…" She frowned again. "You didn't know anything about this? But, the tracker…"

Clay slammed his fist on the desk. "Sons of bitches! They set us up! They set Jenson up!" he roared.

"Didn't DOD come to you…?"

The Colonel nodded. "Little over a week ago. Wanted to borrow Jenson." He looked at her with hard eyes. "I said no. No way in hell was I gonna turn that kid over to their care. Not one of my boys!" He waved a hand. "Then we got this assignment…" His eyes widen a little. "Jenson was called into the infirmary last minute… claimed he needed his last dose of antibiotics before they okayed him for mission." He shook his head. "He was sick the week before. Didn't think anything about it…" he ground the words out, hating himself for not being more suspicious.

Taylor let him storm for a moment, feeling the same betrayal he must have been feeling. If her people had been better, more talented, it would have been her mourning a loss, rather than…

"Wait… Did Jenson… die… or was he taken?" she asked suddenly.

Clay's eyes snapped about to latch onto her.

Taylor explained "They tagged him. He has a tracker. DOD must be planning on going after him…"

Clay was already heading for the door. But, yanking it open, he paused, looking back at her. "Keep working on that thing. DOD's not looking for Jenson. They don't give a rat's ass about him. They're looking for their fucking target, everything else can go to hell. We have to find Jenson. We're the only ones looking for him, the only ones who give a damn!"

Taylor took a deep breath and nodded. "I'll keep working it. But, Clay, as good as Jenson is, this program could take days, even weeks to hunt down every trail…" She met his eyes and asked "How long do you think he has?"

Clay held her gaze for a breath, then spun about and hurried away.

Running away from the question as much as running toward an answer.

0o0o0

He hurt.  
Everything hurt.  
His head throbbed.  
His gut was turned inside and out.  
His throat was raw from dry retching.  
His legs bruised and aching.  
His feet on fire.  
Well, shit!

Jenson was curled up against the head board, his wrist hanging from the cuff, forgotten among all his other pains. His clothing was gone, all but his Pac man boxers, leaving him shivering in the cold air, despite the heat of his skin. His head rested against the cool wall, trying very hard not to move. Even with his eyes closed, flashes of white light continued to pierce his skull.

It was Mr. White who did that, holding his head back, face pressed into the light bulb while Mr. Pink used his kidneys as punching bags. They took turns whipping the soles of his feet, but it was Mr. White who tried to blind him. Mr. Pink seemed to prefer the hands on punishment: punching, kicking, pinching, slapping, whipping….

Jenson bit back a whimper as a hand settled on his bare leg.

"Shhhh." Breathed lightly in his ear. Fingers brushed his sticky hair away from his face. A cool, damp cloth was brought up and held to his eyes, instantly cooling and fading the blinding flashes.

Jenson couldn't help the sigh of relief, his free hand reaching up to hold the damp cloth in place.

"There you go." Purred the voice. Gentle hands ran down his legs, untangling them until they laid out before him. Another cool, damp cloth brushed down his skin, washing away sticky sweat, cooling welts and bruises. When the cloth reached his feet, Jenson tensed. But the voice hummed, calming his nerves despite himself. His feet were washed gently, cooling the burning.

He didn't know how long it went on. The cooling, the soothing, the comforting, the humming… Eventually, he began to drift off, sleep calling to him.

The cloth was removed from his eyes and Jenson winced away. But the light no longer burned like it had.

Jenson braved opening his eyes to gaze at Mr. Blond who sat beside him on the bed, wringing out the cloth. Through cracked lips, he wondered in a horse whisper "Why are you doing this?"

Mr. Blond sighed as he soaked the cloth and wrung it out again. "Did you know that you can repair a broken sword?" he spoke softly, his voice a soft hum. "Break it, then fuse the blade back together, break it again, fuse again… But each time it becomes weaker and weaker… until it breaks for the final time… never to be repaired again." He wiped the cloth across his prize's shoulders.

Frozen in place, afraid to move, Jenson tried his best to glare at the man. "Then what?" he asked.

Mr. Blond smiled that Great White smile. "Then you throw the broken pieces into the fire, melt it down, create something new… something great." He looked up at the boy. "Have you ever heard the term that the pen is greater than the sword?"

Jenson swallowed. "A time or two." He admitted.

"Well, now that we live in an age where the pen is obsolete… what would you consider greater than the sword?" He moved his attention from Jenson's shoulders to his chest.

Jenson's free hand snapped down, grabbing the cloth. "I will not… I won't break." He promised.

Mr. Blond smiled as he leaned back, folding his hands in his lap. He tilted his head to one side, his lashes fluttering. "How sweet your determination." He slowly rose to his feet. "Well, then, if you have not broken… then what am I doing here? Mending what broken blade?" With a shrug, he turned and went to the door. He smiled over his shoulder before slipping out.

Jenson let his head fall back against the wall. "I won't break!" he promised himself.

Won't get the chance!  
Any minute now the Losers were gonna bust through that door…  
Well, Cougar would be across the street, single shots sounding as his perfect aim taking out the guards.  
Pooch would be down at the front, revving the engine of some tank like, high powered, very stolen vehicle.  
Roque would be the first one through the door, honking huge sword like knives spinning like some pissed off, dark age warrior, hacking limbs off left and right, sending blood spraying up the walls.  
Clay would come in next, guns in each hand, guns hanging off his arms, off his belt, tucked into his boots. He'd bob his head at Jenson, throw him a cocky smile, toss him something that'd set him lose…

Yup, that's how the Losers would do it.

Any minute now…

Any...  
Minute...  
Now........

Please..........

The door opened.

Jenson looked up.

Mr. White and Mr. Pink stepped into the room.

Jenson tried to smile up at them. "Say, you fellas didn't happen to see a really pissed off, big, dark age warrior sort spinning sword like knives around out there… did you?"

Mr. White closed the door behind him with a solid sounding clank.

"Yea?" Jenson groaned. He tossed the cloth on the night stand. "Maybe later."

0o0o0o0


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

0o0o0o0

General Morrison frowned as Colonel Clay stormed into his office. "Really? Have I joined the wrong army? Wasn't there supposed to be a little something called, oh, I don't know, military discipline?" He threw an equally irritated glare at the black clad man already in his office, sitting on the corner of his desk. "And I'm not telling you to get the hell off my desk again. I'm just gonna put a few bullets in your ass and see how you like sitting on it then." He snarled out a warning.

The black clad man grinned.

The General rested his hand on the butt of the pistol at his hip.

The black clad man slid off the corner of the desk.

"Humph." General Morrison glared at him a breath longer, before turning back at this latest intrusion. "Colonel Clay… what do I owe this… unannounced!... pleasure?"

Clay threw a look at the stranger dressed in black body armor and black leather dress shoes. For a moment he wondered at the absurdity of the combination, before asking his General "DOD?"

Morrison waved a hand at the man. "Colonel Clay of the Losers, meet Captain Grey of the Assholes." He took a moment to glare at said Captain of the Assholes, just daring him to protest. "Now that we're all friendly, can you all get the hell out of my office?! I actually have plans… you know? Little something called war?!"

Grey actually turned and smiled at Clay, offering him a nod of the head. "Colonel, I've heard good things about your unit."

"Explains why you sold one of my men out to that psychopath!" Clay snarled with even more venom than the General.

Which was what caught Morrison's attention.

Truth be told his attention was had the moment Clay busted into his office. Sure, leader of the Losers wasn't well known for polite behavior, but he had always shown the proper amount of respect where Morrison was concerned.

His head tilted to one side. "Excuse me? Did I miss something?"

Of course he missed something!  
The fucking DOD was involved!

Captain Grey shrugged. "Corporal Jenson is vital to our mission…"

"Be nice if he had known that!" Clay snapped.

Grey rolled his eyes. "Need to know…"

"Need to know? You're pulling that fucking need to know bullshit?!" Clay yelled, taking a step forward, his fists doubled up, ready to pummel the man right here and now, general's desk be damned. "I need to know where the fuck my man is!"

The black clad man threw a knowing smile over his shoulder, as if he was sharing a secret with the General. "Our mission is primary to the safety of our grand ol' United States of…"

"Oh, grand ol' my rosy red ass. What the hell are you huntin' so desperately you need… who? Jenson? The hacker kid? You huntin' the Darkmoon Rabbit or somethin'?" Morrison groaned, offering an eye roll of his own. But then his hard glare returned, snapping at Smith with an almost physical blow. "Grey, I swear, I will put a bullet in your ass!"

Grey bolted up to his feet again, after forgetting for half a moment about the desk.

Morrison scrunched up his nose, as if considering shooting him anyway. But, deciding he might need him to answer some questions, he turned to Clay. "What happened?"

"This bastard and his assholes set us up! Tagged Jenson and got him nabbed by this Mr. Blond character who's gonna sell him to the highest bidder!" was the snarled response.

"Tagged?" The General glanced at Grey. "What does he mean tagged?"

Grey shrugged.

General Morrison went livid. "Don't you shrug at me, you stinkin' little waste of piss! What the hell does that mean?! What the fuck does tag mean?! You stick a tracker on him? Without him knowing? Without his commanding officer knowing?"

Grey stiffened. "Sir." He spoke very slowly, very carefully now. "I must remind you that, as per DOD directive, I am under no obligation to answer any question in reference to current operations…"

General Morrison's pistol was slammed down on the desk top with a very meaningful clunk. "And, I must remind you that I don't give a flying shit what DOD's directive is. You involve my men, and, guess what, dumb ass? You sure as hell have better start answering my questions!"

Grey's eyes fell on the gun. "Sir…"

"Yea?" Morrison pushed when he hesitated. "Did… you… tag… my man… like a goddamn dog?!"

Captain Grey sighed. "Jenson… yes, sir, Jenson was tagged as part of an operation sanctioned by DOD, noted as being very essential to national security."

Morrison nodded slightly. "I take it from the settle way Colonel Clay made his inquiry, that he was not informed of this… operation?!" A sharp glance warned Clay to keep his mouth shut. An interruption would not help his cause one little bit.

"He was… approached." Grey's eyes flickered, as if he was desperately seeking a way to put it without getting shot.

"Approached?" When clarification wasn't immediate, Morrison asked "Grey, do you particularly fond getting shot?"

"No, sir, I am not particularly fond of getting shot." The man admitted.

"Have you ever been shot before?"

There was the slightest squeak to his voice when Grey answered "No, sir… not yet."

Morrison barked out a laugh. "Hear that, Clay? Not yet!"

Clay wasn't amused, but offered an "Imagine that." anyway.

Captain Grey raised his chin, reminding himself that he was a Captain of the Department of Defense. His job… his duty! was to protect his country at whatever the cost… whether that cost be a young Corporal with a genius skill, if questionable ethics, while at a keyboard; or be his own blood, limb, life… which, personally, he considered just as genius, if not in the same category.

Taking a breath, he spoke slowly, carefully, letting both of the men in front of him understand his dedication to his duty, to the DOD: "Gentlemen, in the last year alone our country has been attacked numerous times. Our economy has taken one brutal, devastating hit after another. With every swipe of a credit card at our local Target or Walmart, every online purchase of lacy under drawers…. our most private lives, our most buried secrets, our financial infrastructures are laid bare for the highest bidder!" He paused to look directly at one man, then the other. "The war on terror won't be won or lost in some sweltering desert, bombing some Abba-Dabba who's on the verge of blowing himself up all on his own. This war isn't about what does and doesn't go boom. It's about the future. And, gentlemen, the future is a completely digital era."

Clay huffed. "You sound like Mr. Blond." He growled.

The Captain looked at him with raised eyebrows. "You actually met Mr. Blond? Spoke with him?" He shook his head in near disbelief. "Don't know if you're losers for that experience or winners for surviving it. He took possession of Jenson himself? Personally?" He rubbed his hands with glee. "Oh, this is going better than I thought. To get our hands on Mr. Blond…"

"Who the hell is Mr. Blond?" Morrison demanded.

"A psychopath slaver…" Clay snarled.

But Grey's description sounded more admirable. "A genius entrepreneur who has mastered the need and supply of the most basic human desires and most intricate exchanges found throughout the world."

Morrison frowned. He looked at Clay.

Clay shrugged. "Psychopath slaver." He interpreted.

The General turned his glare back on Grey. "And he has my man?!"

Unashamed, Grey nodded. "If everything goes as plan…"

"Get him back!" Morrison snarled.

The Captain frowned at him. "That is the roundabout intention. Jenson will lead us right to the heart of our greatest threat. If we can take Mr. Blond…"

General Morrison rose to his full height, taking his pistol in his hand. "I said get him back… Now! You can track him? Track him!"

"We're just waiting for confirmation that he's arrived at some center, some hub of activity. His tracker only has him at some weigh station. But they should be moving him soon…"

"Am I not clear?" Morrison glanced at Clay as if asking his opinion, before his very I-am-in-command glare hit Grey full force. "You will get your pansy ass in that black put-put of a chopper of yours, load up your pansy assholes, fly like a bat out of hell, and BRING MY MAN HOME!" the last was roared so that even Clay shook himself out of his arrogant stance.

Captain Grey swallowed hard. "Sir, for any of this to justify the expenditure…"

"Expenditure?" Clay choked on the word. "You want to justify selling Jenson?"

"Expenditure of the operation…" Grey tried to explain.

"I don't give a shit about your operation! I want Jenson back!" Clay snapped back, taking a heavy footed step toward the man like a threatening land slide.

Again Grey swallowed. "Perhaps, if we get Mr. Blond, if we can turn him…" He quickly turned back to the General. "Still, sir, General, sir… the reason I came here in the first place… I need a few more men for this mission. As you know, I had a black hawk refocused. If given the time, I would be able to reapply the man power, but, as is…" he spread his hand, playing badly at being helpless. "A few more days…"

"Colonel Clay, how are your men?" Morrison inquired.

"Ready and able!" Clay assured.

Grey paled. "You want me to take the Losers?" he squeaked.

"Seems logical. His man, his men!"

The Captain glanced at the Colonel with a wince and a raised eyebrow. "But, sir…. The Losers?!"

0o0o0o0

They had found new toys.

Well, they wielded them like they had played with them before, but it had been the first time Jenson had seen them.

Cattle prods.

And what lovely, lovely toys they were. His muscles still twitched. Amazing how exhausting curled up in a ball could be. 'Course, while he was curled up in a ball, every muscle in his body had been jumping and twitching as if he was the latest in celebrity twerking scandals.

His muscles still twitched.

Not that Mr. Blond took much notice as he laid out his elegant little meal for them. Juicy steak covered in sautéed mushrooms, baked potato, greens…

Mr. Blond smiled, pushing the tray closer to the bed. "There we go. Good food for a good boy. Must keep your strength up." He sang, smiling his Great White smile.

Jenson glanced at the food, his empty belly growling with anticipation. But every other part of his body groaned in protest of even thinking about moving.

How long had it been since he had eaten?

How long had he been since he had been here?

The only count of time was the coming and going of the pain. Sure, he could see light through the tiny window, but how many times had he been passed out and missed the passing of a night or a day or a raving Armageddon.

Didn't matter. He couldn't move. He could barely breath. Didn't want to. It was safe curled up in a tight ball, leaning back against the head of his bed, his hand hanging useless from its shackle.

Mr. Blond didn't seem to mind. He kept on smiling as he cut a small bite of the steak and held it out for his prize to take a bite. "Here you go, my beauty. Take a bite."

As much as Jenson's stomach growled and struggled, the hacker glared at the offering. God, he hated that man, acting like his savior when it was his dogs that tore him up… again and again and fucking again… Grinding his teeth, he used every bit of anger and grit to snarl out "Go… screw…. a fuckin'… light socket!"

Mr. Blond leaned back, his smile never wavering. "Well… that sounds… shocking." He paused to chuckle at his own joke. He took the offered bite for himself, closing his eyes and purring with pleasure.

The door opened so suddenly, Mr. Blond jumped, for a moment losing his perfect poise.

It was only a moment, but a moment that was a cherished reward for Jenson.

See?

Mr. Blond wasn't some mystical creature from some dark depths of hell. He was human. He could be startled. And if he could be startled, then he could be hurt. He could be killed.

Mr. Blond turned to face the intrusion. His chin up, his glare a demand for an explanation.

Backed by Mr. White and Mr. Pink, a tall, wide shouldered man entered the room with an odd, metal detecting sort of devise.

When no one answered right away, Mr. Blond growled "What?!"

The stranger quickly entered the room and hurried to the bedside. Jenson flinched as he waved the devise over his body. Hovering over his shoulder, the devise beeped. The stranger glanced up at Mr. Blond. "He's tracked!"

Mr. Blond blinked. "Tracked?" he repeated.

"Tracked?" Jenson repeated, frowning.

Mr. Blond recovered first. Calm and steady, he ordered "Cut it out."

"Cut it…" Jenson started, still confused. But when the stranger snatched the steak knife off of the table, he was suddenly very sure of what he intended to do with it.

Before Jenson could jerk away, Mr. Pink snatched his arm, twisting it against his shoulder, holding it out for the stranger. Without hesitation, the knife wielder dug into his flesh, into muscle.

Jenson cried out, squeezing his eyes against the ripping pain as his attacker dug. The world began to fade in a red fog as he fought to stay conscious… though, for the life of him, he couldn't understand why he bothered.

Just die already.  
Just fucking well get it over with and kill him!

It seemed like forever, but, in truth, took only a moment for the stranger to find what he was looking for.

"Got it!" he declared, holding up his blood covered fingers. Barely detectable through gore was a tiny, itty-bitty chip.

Mr. Blond sighed. "Well, now, I suppose this does change things, doesn't it." He looked back at Mr. White. His order came as calm and as in control as it had ever been, as he told the man "Kill him."

0o0o0o0


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

0o0o0o0

The Black Hawks swept through the little hamlet in a tight formation, nose to tail, nose to tail. Their shadows were faint in the wake of the fading light, the sun already dropping down behind the mountains. The soft hum of their engines, nearly silenced by the latest tech, drew concerned looks from the shop keepers as they closed up the street market for the night, but, otherwise, went unnoticed.

Their target building sat on the west side of the township: an old villa with moderate walls and a courtyard paved with colorful stones, elaborate gardens with Roman style fountains, and steeled barred windows. A dusty, black hummer sat in front of the big double doors. There was a guard wandering the east patio, one each on the north and south balconies, a fourth on the west balcony over looking the main doors.

Four silent shots.

The four guards dropped, dead before they even hit the ground.

Clay glanced at Cougar as he watched the building through his sniper scope. He had taken the west and north balconies in the same amount of time the other two snipers, one in each of the other choppers, took out their targets. He knew what his sniper could do, but, somehow, Cougar always managed to amaze him.

Amaze and scare the shit out of him…. Potato, pototo…

"Clear." Clay called softly through his throat mic. After the other two Black Hawks confirmed "clear," the command came from the lead in the form of a short and simple "Go!"

Instantly ropes dropped from the Black Hawks and silent intruders slid down, touching down on the ground and taking up look out positions. The next wave of black clad soldiers spread out, scouting the immediate area around their drop zone. The third wave dropped those who would move into the building itself.

The Losers entered through the north balcony’s big French doors, flanked by a pair of Smith's DOD cookie cutter warriors. Clay had argued that the Losers would only be slowed by the tag alongs, but Grey had insisted that he only used teams of six, and, if the Colonel insisted on taking Rogue, even if he was wounded, then he insisted that he also took two of his own men.

To watch their backs, of course.

Clay glanced over his shoulder at the two strangers who were supposed to have their backs.  
The two seemed to have eyes only for the Losers, almost ignoring dark corners and obvious spots where enemies could be hiding.

With a frown, Clay glanced at Rogue. The big man, his best friend, knew instantly what he wanted.

Rogue dropped back, stepping between the two strangers, stepping back further, taking up the rear position. As they watched the Losers' backs, he would watch theirs… in a matter of speaking.

Satisfied that that was taken care of, Clay turned his full attention back to the matter at hand: finding Jenson.

He and Cougar had the lead, eyes trained on their individual sectors, scanning for any movement in the shadowy corners, any threat. Behind them was Pouch, his eyes bouncing from the tracker in his left hand and the immediate area, his revolver at the ready in his right.

The large villa was full of dark halls and large, empty rooms. Shutters were closed, dust floated in beams of light, a vacant chill cooled the otherwise warm, stale air.

"No one's here, man." Complained one of the DOD grunts.

Roque hissed "Shut it!" reminding him that they were still running silent.

But Clay took another few steps before glancing back at Pouch and whispering "Anything?"

Pouch nodded down the hall, towards the south wall, though he was frowning at the device in his hand.

"What?" Clay wanted to know, stepping back to look for himself.

The devise was a tracker, keyed into the chip that had been placed in Jenson's arm. It also read heat signatures in close proximity. If there had been any warm bodies beyond a wall or two, it would have detected them. But all it showed was Clay's team and a blinking arrow, indicating Jenson. Otherwise the area seemed to be empty of even a stray cat.

The Lt. Colonel also frowned. Why was Jenson's tracker here, but no one else? No guards? No hired guns? No Mr. Blond? Unless, of course, Jenson no longer needed looking after… if he was…

With a shake of his head, Clay returned to his station and lead the way in the indicated direction.

Another four minutes, three more rooms cleared, and a breeze blew through the villa, carrying a dark, burnt smell.

Pouch tapped his communicator at his throat. "Six heat signatures, next corner to the right. Tight formation."

Instantly, the Losers tightened up, ready to react to whatever they might encounter around the corner.  
Cougar went low, Clay high. Up close to the wall, they leaned around the corner, weapons trained.

"Woe!" snapped Grey. "Friendlies!" He lowered his own weapon, waving at the men following him to do likewise.

"Huh." Clay grumbled, taking a moment longer than needed to lower his own weapon. "Matter of opinion." Sharp glance over his shoulder, he ordered "Pouch!"

Pouch moved ahead, same as Grey's tracker. Watching his scanner for half a breath, Pouch nodded to the door to his left. He held up one finger, but threw a frown at his commander.

One heat source.

But something was strange.

Clay jerked his head, moving Pouch out of the way. He and Cougar moved forward.

Grey stepped up, though, and waved at Cougar. "I got it."

Cougar raised one eye brow, glancing at his commander. Sure as hell he didn't want Clay going in there with Grey at his side. Of course, he would still be just a step behind.

Clay nodded once. He didn't trust Grey worth a damn, but he knew, even outnumbered, his men could take the DOD thugs in a heartbeat. Particularly motivated as they were. For what they did to Jenson… what they might do to him….

Cougar made room for the DOD Captain, Pouch stepped close behind him.

At his side, Grey asked "Smell that?"

Again Clay nodded once; the smell carried on the breeze coming from that room was all too familiar.

"You want, me and my men can take the room." Grey offered. "You don't have to…" he stopped when a glare from the Colonel hit him like a punch. Sniffing, the Captain shrugged. "So be it."

"Fuck this." Clay suddenly growled, kicking the door open.

Not ready for the sudden break from procedure, Grey almost stumbled into the room after the enraged Clay. Not a man used to field work, Grey choked on the greasy, smoky air that filled the room. He turned his head, squeezing his eyes close. He was in no condition to resist when Cougar shoved him out of the way.

Clay avoided looking at the bed. He scanned the room quickly: the bare walls; the one tiny, lone window; the pile of torn, bloody scraps of material that had been clothing in the corner; the smoky circle on the ceiling above the bed…

"Shit." Pouch breathed.

Clay looked back at him.

The young man was nothing new to combat, or even losing friends, but this… "Fuckin' A! Shit!" he said again, staring wide eyed at the bed. "Is that J? Is that…?"

Roque stepped in and shoved him out. "Clear the house!" he snapped the order. Apparently there was a hesitation, because he jabbed his finger at those outside the room. "Fuckin' well secure the damn house or I'll slit every damn one of you! Pouch! Now!"

Clay took a deep breath, regretting it instantly when he filled his lungs with that smell. He finally dared to look at the bed.

The bed had once had white covers. But now they were black, burned by fire, stained by blood. Laying across the bed was a body. 

Tall…  
Jenson was tall…  
Blond…  
Jenson was blond…  
Strong…  
Jenson had been strong…

The back of the head was a blown out mess, brain matter and blood sprayed out on the wall.

Cougar was crouched beside the bed, leaning against his rifle, staring at the body. After a moment, he sighed. Reaching out, he turned the body face up.

The face was gone. A burned mess. He had been shot in the face, the bullet blowing out the back of his skull. Lighter fluid had been poured over the dead man's face and lit on fire. Not enough to destroy of the body, but, enough…

Cougar lowered his head, the brim of his hat hiding his face.

Grey held a scanner over the body. "Yup. That's our tracker. Well, shit." He shook his head angrily. "Well, shit again. Back to the fucking drawing board."

Roque's fist slammed into his jaw, spinning him about and slamming him into the wall. "Fuckin' drawing board? Fuckin' hell! I'm gonna bury you! I'm gonna fuckin'…"

"Roque!" It was Cougar who spoke up, uncharacteristically loud and clear. It was enough to stop his teammates and get them to look at him. "Amigo…" he spoke softly now that he had Roque's attention, "Por fa vor… stop." He reached out and rested a hand on the top of the dead man's head. He lowered his head again, hiding behind the brim of his hat.

Roque ran a hand over his face. "Well… shit." He breathed.

Touching his split lip tenderly, looking down at the blood on his fingers, Grey allowed his one hand to tighten around his weapon. Somehow, better judgment reigned in and he holsted it. "I get it." He admitted. He actually managed to look apologetic when he looked up at the men of the Losers. "I do. I'm sorry. Losing a man is fucked up." He looked down at the body. "I'll take care of it. I'll get him home and call on his family…"

"No." Clay spoke up finally. Slowly he raised a finger at Grey. "You will stay away from him. You will stay away from his sister." His words were soft, almost hard to hear, but their impact was enough. Clay could be a quiet man often enough. That didn't stop him from being one of the most deadliest men.

"Colonel…" Cougar spoke again, this time his head coming up with something in his hand. "It's not him."

Clay snapped about. "What do you mean?"

"'Course it's him!" Grey protested just as fast.

Cougar held up his hand, revealing a tiny, bloody tracking chip. "Under the bed, Colonel."

"Well…" Grey searched for an answer. "maybe they dug it out first…"

"From his arm?" Clay demanded, stepping over to the bed to get a real good look at the body this time.

Fully clothed…  
Jenson's clothes were the rags in the corner.  
Blond hair too short…  
Could they have bothered to cut his hair?  
No glasses….  
Where were Jenson's glasses?  
Arms undamaged….  
Where did the chip come from if not cut out of the arm?

"It isn't Jenson!" Roque was already concluding and the relief in his voice just sang out.

"Well, who the else could it be?" Grey demanded. "Look, I wish and hope just as much as you. Without Jenson, my whole show goes down the drain! But who else could it be?"

"Fuck your show!" Roque growled.

"Look, man…" Grey started, having enough of this pointless hope.

"Shut up!" Clay snapped. He didn't bother to look up from where he was inspecting the body's arms. "Why would they cut out the tracker if they were just going to kill him anyway?" he reasoned, half to himself. "Why burn the face?"

"Why?" Grey repeated. "That doesn't slow us down much. With fingerprints and DNA… sure we won't be using the teeth… but there are plenty enough ways to identify him. So why bother with a decoy? Unless, the fire wasn't to hide that it isn't… or is… Jenson, but to teach us a lesson…. Show us how brutal Mr. Blond can be, the ends he's willing to go. Yea, if he can't have his weapon, well, no one else will either!... Yea!" He seemed quite pleased with his reasoning.

Clay was not. In fact, he seemed quite please to disagree…. Firmly! "They found the tracker. They cut it out of his arm and left this guy to slow us down so they can…. What?"

"Get away?" Cougar offered.

But Clay shook his head. "Look at this place. They had time to empty it out, make it feel like nothing and no one's been here for awhile. They weren't rushing out the door."

"They left four guards for our snipers." Roque pitched in.

"Yea, and if they hadn't been there, would we have spent this much time in here? Bothered coming in in the first place?" Clay paused, tilting his head. "They want us here, in here. Why?"

Cougar rose suddenly. "Trap."

"Oh, come on!" Grey threw up his hands. "Talk about gun shy. Gonna think every little room is a trap now, huh? Where ever you look Mr. Blond is out to get you? Really? Who's he after this time, Clay? All brawns/no brains here?" He threw a thumb at Roque.

Roque turned to demonstrate some of that brawns when a voice over the comm interrupted.

"We've got a problem here, boys and girls."

Clay touched his throat mike. "Talk to me, Pouch."

"How many drums of PETN do you think it'd take to blow us off the face of the earth?" Pouch asked.

Clay looked at Roque who shrugged, answering "Not a whole hell of a lot."

"Well, then, this guy sure does believe in over kill. His basement is full of the stuff. This whole house is gonna go up… probably a good chunk of the town too."

"Get out!" Clay ordered. "Everyone: out now!" He pointed to Grey. "Get your fly boys to buzz the town. Order everyone out of range!"

When Grey hesitated, Roque grabbed him and threw him toward the door. "Cougar, get his ass out of here! Don't stop moving until the town's clear. MOVE!"

Cougar hurried out, pushing and threatening Grey ahead of him.

"Come on, Clay…" Roque was saying as he turned back, but stopped when he saw what Clay was doing. "What the fuck…"

Clay had his knife out and was sawing through an index finger of the body. "Fingerprint, DNA." He explained, wrapping the digit in a cloth and shoving it into a pocket.

"You sounded pretty sure it wasn't our boy." Roque pointed out.

Clay looked up at him. "Sure I'm sure." He assured. "Just be nice to know I'm not wrong." Then he headed for the door at a run. "You coming?"

Roque took one last look back at the body. "You sure as hell better not be Jenson." He snarled, before turning and chasing after the Colonel.

Whatever else might be said about the DOD fly-boys, they sure know how to rouse a town. By the time the Losers had joined the others outside the walls of the villa, their side of the village had already cleared out, everyone running for the far side. The Blackhawks were shouting out over loud speakers warnings and threats in English, Chinese, Cantonese, and whatever language they could muster.

"Move, move, move!" Roque snapped as he and Clay caught up with Pouch and Cougar.

It was as far as they got before a rumble began underground, then the villa at their backs erupted.

Clay wasn't sure if it was the rolling ground or the heat wave that sent him flying. Only one breath he was running, the next he was sniffing dirt. Spitting out what he hoped was gravel and not another broken tooth, he slowly pushed himself up to his knees. He looked down at his shadow, taking a moment to be amazed at how bright everything behind him must have been to make his shadow seem so dark.

"Clay!" someone far off was yelling. A hand grabbed his arm. "Clay, get on your goddamn feet!"

Blinking, the Colonel looked up at Roque.

The big man's face was smeared with mud; his shoulder wound was bleeding through his shirt. He was covered in dirt and smoke and why the hell was he smoking?

Oh, yea.  
The villa.  
Big bomb.  
Big explosion.

"Clay, snap out of it!" Roque's lips were moving, but it was as if his voice was so very far away.

Cougar appeared behind Roque. His hat was missing. Pouch was propped up between him and Grey.

What the hell did that DOD ass do to his men now?

Oh, yea.  
The villa.  
Big bomb.  
Big explosion…

"Shit!" Clay suddenly growled, the sound of his own voice cutting through the fog. "Pouch?"

"Be a hell of a lot better if you got to your feet so we can do that whole run for our lives thing!" Roque snarled, sounding very close now. He dragged his commander to his feet, waving the rest of the men ahead of them. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

But Clay pulled away. Wobbling slightly, he turned back to see what was left of the only lead they had had on Jenson.

The large villa was gone.

The moderate walls and colorful courtyard, the gardens and patios, the long halls and big empty rooms…

All that remained was a giant hole in the ground that spewed flame and rubble. Somewhere at the heart of the fire storm little explosions still shook the ground, sending unaimed projectiles screaming through the air to land within the township, smashing through some hay and sod roof, starting yet another fire.

"Clay, man, there's nothin' left…" Roque's voice was lower now, gentler. "We gotta get back." He encouraged.

Numbly, Clay nodded. He turned back to his man and, taking his arm, this time offering him support, helped him back through the fiery town.

0o0o0o0

There was no world.

No light.  
No dark.  
No heat.  
No cold.  
No soft.  
No hard.

Just the piercing edge of pain.

It cut deep and hummed against his bones, screaming in his head, beating against his heart. It enveloped him, encased him, like an iron maiden's sharp embrace.

"Kill him."  
BANG!  
Vision gone red.  
Ears ringing.  
Legs crushed by the weight of… another….

Jenson arched his back, gasping against the weight, trying to rise above the pain.

A hand rested on his chest. "Be still. I am nearly complete."

He tried to reach for the hand, to push it away, but his arm wouldn't budge. For that matter nothing would budge. He thought real hard. He concentrated, pushed his way through the fog, through the pain, through the fear…

So much fog…  
So much pain…  
So much fear….

"Kill him."  
BANG!  
Jenson's world vanished behind a hot, sticky, red curtain. His skin prickled as if a handful of glass shards had been blown into his face. A burden weighted him down, dragging him down, down, and down into that endless pit.

He struggled, reaching out, grasping for anything to slow his descent. His hand snapped against the end of his leash, the familiar feeling of a steel cuff cutting into flesh.

"Be still!" was spoken again as small hands wrapped around his wrist. "Leave this here." was her command as his hand was laid back on the bed beside his head.

Her?

Something pinched his arm.

Then again.

Jenson considered opening his eyes.

"Kill him."  
BANG!

He jerked away, dodging the blood spray, bumping into something that squealed, jerking against the cuff again. In a panic, he scrambled the other direction, putting his back to the head board where he knew the cuff was attached. He pulled his legs up as tight as possible, protecting as much of the soft spots as possible.

"Cease at once!" came another command from Her.

Jenson froze. He held his breath and waited… and waited…

"Breath. You are alright. I am here to help you." She spoke softly, a small hand touching his arm.

"Help?" Jenson breathed. He choked on his own words, his throat seeming to close up on itself just from the use. He squeezed his eyes even tighter.

"Gently." She spoke again. "You need to drink."

He felt the lip of a glass touch his mouth, cool water splashing against his lips.

"Drink." She commanded.

Jenson opened his mouth just enough to let the coolness to flow over his sandpaper tongue and down his burning throat. He didn't dare swallow at first, just relishing the feel of relief as the water seemed to douse the flames.

"Drink." She commanded again.

And he swallowed. He hadn't realized how empty he felt until the water hit his stomach. Then he was reaching up, hands closing around the glass, and emptying every last drop down his throat with hungry, greedy gulps.

"Enough!" She snapped, pulling the glass away. "Gently! You have not drank in two days! You must be gentle!"

Licking his lips, savoring every last bit of the coolness before it faded, Jenson felt his body respond. The tight twist of his muscles began to uncoil. The grip on his throat loosened. His eyelids unclenched. After a breath or two, he even dared to pry them open.

Everything was bleary, but he could still make some out, if not all the details.

A figure in pale blue sitting on his bed side, fumbling with a black bag of some sort.

That must be the Her!

He watched as She turned back to him, reached for his arm. There was another pinch.

"That is finished." She explained. Then She turned her face up to look at him. "You were wounded. I put eight stitches in your arm. It should heal well if you keep the wound clean." She reached up to run Her fingers across his forehead, down his cheek, across his smooth jaw. "I removed your spot of beard. I apologize, but it was necessary. I had need to remove bone slivers from your face. There will be no scarring, though you may feel sensitive…"

"What…" Jenson interrupted, but stopped to swallow hard, trying to force his throat to stay open. "What…. Happened…?" he managed finally.

Her bleary face tilted to one side. "A man's head exploded toward your face." She explained.

"Kill him."  
BANG!

Jenson flinched.

"You were caught in the debris spray." She waved a finger around his face. "Thus bone slivers, blood and brain matter…" She hesitated. "You cannot see… in detail? Your glasses were removed for cleaning and repair."

The sting, the red… so red it was nearly black.  
Ears ringing.  
Weight landing across his legs.  
He kicked and struggled.

Again the flinch. "Stop!" he hissed, leaning away.

"I will not harm you." She assured.

"Now, now, our fine Doctor never harms anyone." Came the voice Jenson was expecting.

He froze, every ounce of his being going cold.

"There he is." Mr. Blond continued his cooing, as if he was comforting a small child. "All bright eyed and beautiful… well, bleary eyed, yet still very much beautiful." His figure came close, hands reaching up, slipping Jenson's glasses in place. "Now, isn't that better?"

Jenson closed his eyes. Now he could see clearly, he didn't want to. She was different. She said She was helping him. The first She he had heard since… since before…

And She's working for him!

"Fuck it all." Jenson groaned with sigh, letting his head fall back against the wall. He closed his eyes again, this time just to hold off the truth a moment longer.

"Aw, now there is an interesting invitation." Mr. Blond chuckled, running his hand over his captive's chest.

Jenson's free hand snapped up to slap his hand away.

Mr. Blond laughed. "Still not quite broken, are we?" He ran a thumb down his newly shaved chin. "Bent and bruised maybe, but not yet broken."

Jenson jerked his head away, glaring at the slaver.

Mr. Blond smiled. "Well, Doctor, will our Beauty live?"

"He will recover with, perhaps, slight scarring where the arm was cut, but nowhere else." She rose to her feet, gathering her bag to her.

Jenson looked up at her, seeing the details for the first time.

She wasn't a knock out like one dreams of waking up to see. No Angelina Jolie. But still a beauty, in the classic since. Little taller than average, not slender, but healthy. She was professionally dressed, well to do, but not overly expensive. Light brown hair tied up in a bun. Round face, olive skin, almond eyes. Green. Her eyes were green. She kept them down, obedient, in servitude.

"If you have no more need for me, Mr. Blond?" she asked softly, her tone demure, weak. When she had spoken to Jenson, she was commanding, strong, in charge. But when she spoke to Mr. Blond…

Jenson sat up slightly, looking at her again. She was like him. She belonged to Mr. Blond!

No!  
No, Jenson belonged to no one!  
And neither did she!

He was too busy raging in his head to notice that she had been dismissed until she stepped through the door and was gone behind a solid bang of the door.

"Kill him."  
BANG!

Jenson's head snapped about to glare at Mr. Blond. "You killed him!" he accused.

"hmm?" Mr. Blond raised his eyes to where he had been casually eyeing the length on Jenson's leg, running a finger along the white bed cover around the bare limb. He smiled that predatory smile of his. "Ah, yes…. Him." Mr. Blond shrugged. "Well, I did promise that no one would harm you in my presence."

"You told him to!"

Mr. Blond waved a careless hand in the air. "Details." He scoffed. With that white shark smile, he took a seat on the edge of the bed, and leaned over his captive. "Now…. Don't you want to know about your new adobe?"

Jenson pressed back against the head board, his eyes never leaving the man before him.

The man let his eyes drift down, crawl and creep along his body, before returning to his eyes. "Alright, then, Beauty." He rose to his feet and twirled around the room, arms wide, indicating all the world around them. "Welcome home." He stopped to face him again. "Usually we would have spent a little more time together before bringing you here, but, alas, you're team had other plans."

Jenson's eyes went wide. "My team? The Losers? They came for me?"

Mr. Blond bounced his head this way then the other. "Well, they came." He chuckled.

Jenson stopped breathing, waiting for him to continue. When all he got was that stupid smile, he pushed "And? What happened?"

"Big booooooommmmmm!" was the answer, Blond bouncing his eyebrows as if sharing a secret joke.

The door opened behind him and Mr. White and Mr. Pink walked into the room.

Jenson looked up at them. His jaw dropped when he saw what sat on Mr. Pink's head.

Cougar's tarp hat.  
Cougar's!  
The hat he would kill if anyone ever touched!

Mr. Blond looked back, following Jenson's stare. "Ah… looks good on him, doesn't it?" He smiled, clapping his hands. "Well, all that is over with. No more Losers, no more hope." He looked back at his victim. "Hope is such a tiresome thing, don't you think?! Well, now, I must be off for a time. No worries. Mr. White and Mr. Pink will be keeping you company. Oh, and the Doctor may stop in now and again to see to any…. Well, what happens when I am not in the room is between you and these two fine gentlemen." He leaned over him and patted Jenson's cheek. "Do enjoy yourself." And he turned and swaggered his way out of the room.

Jenson continued to stare at the hat he knew all so well.

Mr. Pink touched the brim and smiled down at his victim. "Looks good, don't it?" he offered.

Jenson's reaction was instinctive. He launched himself at the man, but, reaching the end of his chain, he jerked about, falling to the floor, hanging by one arm from the headboard. Pain ripped through his shoulder, the joint screaming its protest.

Mr. Pink's response was typical. He reached down to take him by the chin with one hand and, with a mountain of strength behind the other, back handed him across the face.

0o0o0o0o0o0


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

o0o0o0o0o0o

It was amazing how empty and quiet the world seemed now that Jake Jenson wasn’t in it.

His cot sat, covers thrown about just how he had left it days ago now, leading into weeks. His olive green pack had been dropped in the middle of it and his laptop sat on a crate he had used as a night stand. There was a McDonald’s Garfield cup with a Pokemon toothbrush sitting in it beside the computer. A scruntched up box of raisnetts tucked under his Iron Man pillow, his idea of keeping his promise to his sister to try and eat healthier. Dangling from the lamp pole at the head of the cot was an old sock stitched into a puppet with long black whiskers, rice for fangs, a tiny tarp hat and a tiny rubber band rifle.

Pouch huffed a little, remembering when Jenson had introduced his little sock puppet version of Cougar. Everyone expected to find Jenson with a bullet between the eyes at the count of three. But, surprise, surprise... Cougar looked at the thing and named it “Pequeño puma.” 

Jenson was like that. Walked into the room oblivious and disruptive, and suddenly the whole room loved him. Like that time he nearly had a whole Nigerian bar rip him to shreds for taking over their satalite TV, changing from some National Football (soccer to Jenson) tournament to his niece’s peewee soccer game. After a few tense moments in which the Losers were considering where they were gonna dig the grave, and suddenly the whole drunken bar was cheering his niece’s first score.

Pouch couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory.

“Stop it!” Roque snarled.

Pouch glanced up at the big man where he stood in the door of their tent barracks. “Stop what?”

“Stop rememberin’ him like... like he’s gone!” Roque snapped.

“Well... shit, Roque, look around!” Pouch snapped right back. “I don’t see him!”

“We’ll get him back!” The big man turned and stomped through the tent to his own cot. “Or we’ll fuckin’ well kill whoever took him!”

There was a low growl from Cougar who sat on the floor, cleaning his rifle.

Pouch couldn’t tell if it was a growl to shut them up or in agreement with Roque. But it was enough to make him snap his mouth shut and turn away from the whole topic. Instead, he turned to the satellite phone Jenson had rigged up for him to keep an eye on his girl.

Shit, another memory with a ‘wish you were here’ tag!

“Boss.” Cougar announced even before Clay stepped through the door.

All eyes were on him the moment he appeared, and Clay had to stop to take a breath. He was still struggling to collect his thoughts. He wasn’t ready to tell them yet.

But apparently his silence was enough of an answer.

“Ah, shit.” Pouch groaned.

Roque was off his cot and throwing it across the room.

Cougar just silently watched him, waiting for him to actually say the words.

Pouch protested “There’s no way they got the DNA back that quick.”

Clay nodded once. “DNA will still take awhile, maybe a couple of weeks the way these things go. Since the finger print matched, it might even be put off longer...”

“What the fuck for?” Roque demanded.

“There are other soldiers who don’t even have a fingerprint left to compare.” 

“Fingerprints could be wrong.” Pouch tried. When Clay looked at him, he backed it up with “Hey! You know how many guys are in the slammer ‘cause someone screwed up prints or found their prints on a cup or window from hours before? It happens all the time in the Bronx!” 

“This isn’t New York’s finest, Pouch. And we’re not comparing a print to a print. I cut the finger off the hand myself.” Clay countered.

The men fell silent, each arguing with himself whether to hold on to hope or... or bury a friend.

“Well, shit.” Pouch groaned again.

“We get anything?” Roque wanted to know, though his tone had loss all its gruff and tough. It just sounded desperate now.

Their Colonel shook his head. “A promise from the DOD to keep us in the loop.”

“Yea, I’ll tell the goldfish not to hold her breath.” Roque growled.

“Well, Grey is in a panic. Apparently this little shit storm of theirs was a last ditch effort. Now he’s lost a lot of money and the General isn’t being very diplomatic about losing Jenson...”

A metal snap sounded as Cougar snapped the last piece back in place on his rifle. All eyes landed on him as the sniper rose to his feet and reached for his hat. There was a cold, deadly moment when he remembered it wasn’t there any more. With a growl, he started for the door. 

“Cougs, where you goin’?” Pouch called after him.

“Huntin’.” came the simple answer. He stopped at the door. He didn’t look back at them exactly, just turned a little so they could see the corner of his eyes. “He is not dead.” he said without a doubt, without a wishful tinge, without hesitation. And then he was gone, out the door.

The three men stood there for a moment, before Roque actually chuckled. When the other two looked at him, he shrugged. “If’n he’s goin’ huntin’ then I think Grey has more to worry about than his budget.”

“Oh, shit!” This time it was Clay, and he hurried after his sniper.

As he hurried through base, someone called after him “Colonel Clay! Colonel!”

Clay hesitated to look back. “Taylor, I’ll be right back!” he promised, then hurried on.

Commander Taylor frowned at the dismissal, but, remembering Cougar’s face as he marched pass just a minute earlier, she figured Clay had his hands full at the moment.

“Sir!” called a young tech as she started to dart pas her commander and after the Colonel.

“Crown, hold up!” Taylor called her back. “Let him be.”

“But, sir.... I mean, ma’am....” the tech was flustered and kept looking after the disappearing Colonel.

Taylor sighed. “What is it, Corporal Crown?”

Reluctantly, the tech... actually she was one of them that was more hacker than tech... dragged her feet back to her commander. But her eyes were lit up with excitement when she told Taylor “J’s bloodhound finished, ma’am. It’s mapped out a location.”

Taylor stiffened. “Damn.” she breathed.

“Commander?” Crown tilted her head like a curios bird. “Isn’t that good? We can go get him back, right?”

The Commander looked at the bouncing girl and gave a sad sigh. “Bea, sweety, they matched the fingerprint. Jenson is dead.” she informed the girl.

Beatrice Crown didn’t look as upset as she did confused. “But... that’s not right. I saw that fingerprint... it wasn’t his!” Then she was insistent. “No, you remember I like to draw fingerprints? J let me draw his a couple of Dungeon nights back... I’m sure he was curly and not.... I’m sure...”

Taylor raised an eyebrow. “It is a match for the prints on record for one Corporal Jake Jenson. I know you wish it wasn’t. I wish it wasn’t. But it is.” More firmly then, she added “And I don’t want you upsetting Colonel Clay’s team with this nonsense. They’re gonna have a hard enough time adjusting as is. Now back to your work! Go on with you!” 

Crown was still frowning as she turned and headed back to the computer lab.

“Taylor.” Clay called to her as he came back a little short of breath. “Sorry, I have a bit of a problem on the loose. Um... what did you need? Is it Jenson’s trace?”

Commander Amanda Taylor turned as the Colonel approached. “Yea... yea, um, I just... I’m sorry... it didn’t work.” she managed to get out.

Clay looked at her like a kicked puppy. “What? Are you sure?”

Taylor shrugged. “I know how much you were counting on it. I’m sorry. I truly am.” She let her eyes drop and sniffed. “If only I was half the hacker Jenson is... was... Oh, Frank... I’m so very sorry!”

Clay reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll find another way.” he assured, though the defeated drop of his shoulders told her that he had no other way. That had been it, his last hope. And it had failed him. But then he was stepping away. “I have to find Cougar before he shoots someone.”

Taylor watched as he glanced around then headed off in a new direction. When he was safely on his way, she smiled ever so slightly and started back to her own office, humming ever so quietly to herself.

0o0o0o0

Jenson watched the woman as she finished packing her gear back into her bag. 

It was the third time he had seen her. The second he had been barely conscious for. But this time he watched her as she moved, as she cleaned the bump on his head from when White had slipped and whopped him a little too hard with the cattle prod, as she inspected the electric burns on his legs and bruises on his lower back. She worked silently, only speaking to give a direct instruction: tilt your head back; keep this clean; deep breath.

It wasn’t until she was about to leave, that Jenson finally asked “Who are you?”

“The Doctor.” was her simple answer, not bothering to look up from her work.

“Okay... Doctor who?” he pushed.

She shrugged. “Just the Doctor.”

Jenson couldn’t help but wise crack: “Just the Doctor, huh? Wouldn’t happen to have a sonic screwdriver I could borrow, would ya? Or, better yet, got the Tardis tucked around the corner?”

She looked up from her bag to blink at him.

Now Jenson frowned. “Um, yea, wow, okay.... Guess I now know how Fozzy the Bear felt.” He let his eyes wander the room. “Yea, you know, that time Fozzy was snatched up by a sociopath, mad slaver and tortured by his goon squad.” he mumbled to himself, dropping his eyes from the reality of his situation. “Wacka, wacka, wacka.”

There was a half snicker half cough from across the room.

Jenson’s head snapped up, eyes big with disbelief. “O! M! G! You thought that was funny!” he accused the Doctor.

She blushed, turning every bit of her attention to making sure her bag was properly snapped shut.

“You did!” Jenson pressed. “Not even a groan at the Doctor Who reference... which, by the way, would have been real cool, considering... particularly if you did have a Tardis, ‘cause that would have been out of this world... not to mention kinda handy. We could just fly off to some other time, some other place.... but not that place with the cat nuns. Now that’s two scary things hair balled into one!”

The Doctor had returned to his bedside, taken him by the chin, and lifted his head so she could re-examine his eyes. Apparently his rambling had her reconsidering the head trauma.

He smiled up at her and took a calmer, more relaxed tone: “But, no... It was the torturous misfortune of a socially awkward teddy bear that earned a giggle from you.”

She frowned at him. “I do not giggle.” she declared as if to giggle was on the same level as streaking a baseball game or mooning the Pope.

“Why?” Jenson wanted to know. “It’s a nice giggle... well, except for that cough. But that was only ‘cause you tried to stifle it. Shouldn’t do that. Laugh! Laugh even when you don’t want to! Especially when you don’t want to! That’s what Cougar always says... well, says to me. He doesn’t say a whole lot around others. You’d like him. He’s a Fozzy fan too.” He stopped suddenly, eyes dropping. “He was.” he whispered. But then he shook his head violently. “IS!” he snapped partially to himself, partially to the rest of the world. “Fuck them all south of Friday! IS! Cougar IS!”

The Doctor grabbed his chin again, roughly turning his head up so she could see his eyes. “Was.” she corrected. With a heavy sigh, she explained “All that happens here, all the pain and fear... none of it is more cruel nor devastating than hope. That torture you do to yourself.” She released him and returned to her bag. “Who is this Cougar that you put such faith in him anyway?”

Jenson shrugged. “He’s... he’s my brother.” was his best description. His eyes drifted as he remembered better times. “Cougar, Pouch, Clay, Roque... okay, Roque’s more like the angry cousin you try not to piss off, but, no, it’s too late, ‘cause Aunty Bad Ass must’ve been toting on the war pipe when she was pregnant. I’m pretty sure HE slapped the doctor when he was born... but, yea, my brothers. Closest I’ve ever had anyways.” He took a moment to take a deep breath. “They won’t give up on me and I won’t give up on them.” Again his eyes dropped and he felt his throat tighten. “Never.”

“And you will suffer for that hope.” the Doctor warned. When he looked up to protest, she told him with no doubt of her own “No one comes for us. No mothers nor fathers and no brothers. The longer you hold on to that false hope, the worse it will be for you.”

Jenson shook his head. “They will come for me.” he repeated.

The Doctor had had enough of hopes and wishes. “Lie to yourself if you must.” she huffed. “But it is a pain of your own making. Blame that not on others!” She took her bag and started for the door. But there she paused. Her head hung low, she told him “Today they take you to the Shower Room.”

Jenson sniffed at himself. “Am I that bad?” Then he noted her sad look. “I’m not gonna get the bubble bath and rubber duck treatment, am I?!”

She didn’t even glance his way as she slipped out the door to be replaced a moment later by the hulking Mr. White.

Jenson threw him a smile. “So, rubber duck? No?” Then he lost his smile.

0o0o0o0o0o0


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

o0o0o0o0o0o

It took Colonel Franklin Clay two days to finally pin his sniper down. And, in that time, Grey’s men and Clay’s men had “accidentally” ran into each others’ fists at least four times. Five of Grey’s were in the infirmary. Pouch had a black eye and Roque was taking a three day cooling off period in with the MPs. General Morrison was hoping to be rid of the DOD presence before Army regulations said he had to release the Captain or officially charge him with something he couldn’t shake off.

All in all, finding Cougar had been the first bit of good news Clay had had in what seemed a very long time. 

Turned out Cougar had actually gone hunting! For meat! And not long pork, though still of the swine variety. Word was spreading like wild fire through the base that an impromptu Luau was on for the next night. 

Cougar looked rough, as if he had taken down the beast with his bare hands. And, though there were some long distance thanks and good hunt, no one dared to get close enough to actually disturb the man everyone knew as rattlesnake deadly.

Clay had caught up with him on his way out of the mess after seeing the giant wild boar handed off to the cooks. “Damn it all to hell, Cougs! You had me fuckin’ well out of my skull! I thought you went after Grey and his dumbshits!” he complained falling in step beside him as he made his way to their barracks.

Cougar just grunted. It wasn’t really an apology. More of an “if I had gone after Grey, he’d be dead by now.”

And Clay understood every bit of it. “You can’t kill them.” he told the man. “Already have Roque in the clinker. And we’re down a tech... Lose another body and we might as well pack up and go home, ‘cause there won’t be a team left.”

Cougar stopped at the mention of the tech. When Clay stopped to look back at him, he ground out in a rough voice not used in two days “J is not dead!”

Clay sighed. He took the couple of steps back to face off with Cougar, something not even Roque would attempt. “I don’t know if he is or isn’t. God’s honest truth, I just don’t know! What I do know is that somewhere out there is a raving lunatic snatching and selling kids barely old enough to shave. I want that bastard! I want to make sure that this does not happen again! Ever again! Under my watch! You tell me that isn’t what you want and I’ll get you transferred to some other team! But, if you want that Blond bastard half as much as I do... for taking Jenson, for everything he did to him, what he might still be doing to him... Then get the fuck on board! I need a team! And I’m not waiting for you all to get your panties unbunched enough to think straight!”

For a moment of held breaths, the two men glared at each other. Then Cougar actually smiled. He reached up to scratch at the stubble of his chin, before asking “So, how Roque get locked up?”

It took Clay another breath to translate the change of topic to its proper “I’m with you, Boss.” He had to force himself to relax and take a step back. “He couldn’t find a pig to shoot.” he finally answered. The two men continued on towards the barracks. They had walked a ways in silence, before Clay spoke again, admitting “I don’t know how or why his records said that was Jenson, but my gut tells my it’s wrong. It might be just wishful grumbling, I don’t know. There’s a whole heaping that I don’t know right now. What I do know is that Mr. Blond has all the answers. We find him, we find the truth.” He glanced sideways to see Cougar’s reaction.

As usual, the sniper’s reaction was barely noticeable, even to those who knew him best. The man was as stone faced as ever.

So, Clay continued “I’ve convinced the General that the Losers need some down time. Well, Doc Myers practically beg for it. Said we’re all suffering PTSD.”

“Humph.” was Cougar’s response.

The Colonel smiled. “Well, play it up. We get a few weeks or more on our own, without government over sight, and we’ll get a hell of a lot more done. Before we hit the road though, we need to borrow one of Taylor’s hackers. See if we can’t find ourselves a few human traffickers.”

Cougar rested his rifle up on his shoulder. “So... goin’ huntin’?”

Clay bobbed his head. “Goin’ huntin’.” he agreed.

0o0o0o0

The Shower Room.

The name in itself wasn’t really something that struck fear in most soldiers. Fact was a soldier out in the sweltering ass end of the world, whether it be jungle or dessert, cherished the few times a shower could be had. First few minutes on any new forward post were sure to hold the three most important questions: Food? Shit? Shower? Depending on how long a troop had been out in the wild, so to speak, the questions were often answered without the need to ask: Mess there, Latrine over there, and, God, man, you stink; Shower there! Now! Please! That’s an order!

So, when one Corporal Jake Jenson was shown to the Shower Room, even in the company of his current tormentors, he had trouble mustering the dread he knew he should have been feeling.

That didn’t last long.

Mr. White had lead him by the chain attached to his shackle, like a dog on a leash, out the door of his room and into a long hall. There were only three doors to the hall. His room door, a large steel door half way down, and, at the far end, a door with the upper half being fogged window.

Jenson had been amazed by that window and the orange light that illuminated that end of the hall through it. 

Orange light!  
Either they were some real weird decorators, or that was sunlight!   
That door lead out!  
Outside!  
Freedom!  
Home!

But it was the steel door that Mr. White had stopped them at.

The cold air that hit Jenson when he was shoved in was almost a slap to the face. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he suffered yet another shock: “Shower room, my ass. You boys all gone Fifty Shades of Crazy in here!”

It was a large room, floor and walls all cold cement. There were no windows, the only light coming from an inlaid bulb behind wire mesh at each of the four corners. The floor slanted down to the center where a small drain was found. Hanging from the ceiling, above the drain, was a hook, supposedly to hang something... someone... from. Above the hook was a rather large shower head. Two pressure sock guns aimed at the center of the room from opposite walls, cold water dripping from their nozzles. Hanging from the walls was a variety of “toys” that any torturer would giggle with glee at the sight: cattle prods and defibrillators, whips and riding crops, bamboo sticks and mallets of all sizes, tongs and knives, pokers and screws, hoses and a blow horn, cuffs and chains, candles and matches, salt and vinegar, and he was pretty sure those were a collection of varies sizes of dildos (J was about to crack a joke about those, but decided he really didn’t want to draw any attention to them).

Jenson forced himself not to look at it all. Clay had once told him that a good interrogation was done before a hair was out of place, using only the fear of what could happen. Roque followed that lesson up with “but, sometimes, demonstrations, just to show you ain’t foolin’ is needed.”

Even looking away from the wall of horrors he found yet another horror: an actual Stretch Armstrong rack! And an odd looking chair with a hole in the seat and a padded, triangle shaped head piece with tubes dangling from it.

If intimidation was the goal, then they had won. Jenson was most definitely feeling intimidated!

Mr. White tugged him to the center of the room and jerked his chain up and over the hook. It took three or four grabs to snatch Jenson’s free hand which he latched to the end of the chain, leaving him to dangle, toes barely touching the floor. Satisfied that his captive was secure, Mr. White bent down and yanked Jenson’s boxers down, throwing them off into the shadows, never to be seen again.

“Hey... least you could do is buy me a drink first.” Jenson joked, though his voice squeaked just enough.

Unlike Mr. Pink who seemed to relish in using words as a torture, Mr. White preferred the silent treatment, delving straight into his cold hearted work. He stepped back behind the nearest water canon and flipped the handle.

Jenson was suddenly pounded by a spray of icy cold water with enough force that it would raise welts across his skin. He gasped as the cold seemed to cut right down to the bone and stole the air right out of his lungs. He tried to twist away from the spray, protect some of his more sensitive areas, but then the other water canon was turned on and he was pinned between the two powerful sprays.

The twin sprays compressed on his chest so he couldn’t take anything more than a shallow breath, and the heavy with the water in the air. One pounded his kidneys from behind while the other was gut punching him. While one seemed to be driving icy nails into his butt cheeks, the other struck at his gentiles like... like an icy pain that Jenson couldn’t possibly think of a comparison to. He actually managed to wonder, through all the mind numbing cold and pounding, if his junk would actually just fall off if this went on too long.

The captive began to feel panic grip his chest, which didn’t make the struggle to breath any better. He didn’t know if he was drowning or suffocating.   
Was there a difference?   
Did it matter?  
Dead was dead!  
Did it really matter how he ended up that way?

His little world swirled with wet fog and cold darkness, cracked here and there by a flash of pain. He lost track of his fingers and toes, then his arms and legs, and then his lips and ears. He was becoming smaller and smaller and smaller...  
...  
....  
.....  
......

With a gasp, Jenson arched his back against the bed as if he had been launched back into the world of bright light and some form of warmth. Before his mind could even register that he could actually breath, his body was already gulping at the air until his chest began to ache anew, this time from too much rather than too little.

“Gently, gently, my beauty.” cooed a soft voice as a gentle hand laid on his bare chest. “Slow, deep breaths.”

His mind fought to regain control of his body, but everything was doing whatever it wanted to do. His chest flamed, his throat burned, every muscle seemed to be shivering to its own rhythm, his heart pounded in his ears, his fingers frozen in strained claw like positions, his legs so straight his knees, ankles, even his toes popped.

But, cutting through it all, was that calm, reassuring voice coaching him to breath, the gentle stroke of those warm hands as they massaged straining muscles into relaxing.

Slowly, Jenson couldn’t guess how long it took, his body began to respond, drifting back into the warmth of the bed. His breath steadied and his heart quieted to a soft, back ground rhythm. Finally, he sighed with relief.

“There’s my beauty.” cooed that voice, hands gliding over his bare flesh, igniting new tinges and tickles. “My good boy.”

Jenson froze, holding his breath, fists clenching.  
He knew that voice!  
How could he ever forget that voice!  
Reaching for him in the dark...  
Hammering away at him...  
Trying to make him into something new...  
A weapon!  
A commodity!

For the first time since he had awoken, Jenson forced his bleary eyes to focus on the man at his bedside. 

Mr. Blond reached out and carefully slid Jenson’s glasses in place. “Better?” he asked with that Great White smile of his. His hands returned to stroking his captive’s chest and stomach.

It took Jenson another moment to realize he was butt ass naked, not even his boxers to offer some scrap of dignity. Now he laid exposed for all the world to see and do with as they pleased.

God, he wanted to go home!

“Don’t...” he managed before coughing. With a gulp of air, Jenson pushed out “Don’t... fuckin’... touch me... you fucked up... pervert!” 

Mr. Blond paused and looked at him with one raised eyebrow. “Well, now, that was two fucks in one sentence.” He smirked. “We’re not hinting now, are we?” His fingers made light swirls on his lower stomach, so very close to where Jenson did not want him to be.

For that matter, Jenson didn’t want the man anywhere near him!

But, then again, if Mr. Blond was here, that meant White and Pink were not hurting him. And Jake could really use a little time where no one was hurting him. Just a little time... just a little...

Would it be so bad, just for a little time...

With a helpless groan, he let his head fall back and squeezed his eyes close. He felt like curling up and balling like a baby.

Oh, wouldn’t that be the time for Roque to bust in through the door? Just in time to see him weeping like a sixties house wife in a room full of spiders! He’d never hear the last of it!

If Roque ever busted through that door and saved him, he would gladly suffer a lifetime of teasing.   
If...

He used to be able to picture it so well, the rescue. But, now, he wondered if there would ever be a rescue, if there were any friends left, brothers still alive, to preform such a rescue. Or were they all gone? Everyone who remembered him, who cared for him, who would go to the ends of the earth for him... were they all gone?

Was there no hope?

A hand slid down his bare thigh and over his leg. “Such long, wonderfully constructed limbs.” Mr. Blond purred. “A master piece chiseled from stone.... yet ever so fragile, cracking and breaking, bits of the brave facade falling away...”

Jenson twisted out from under his touch, scooting back until he was sitting back against the headboard. Glaring at Mr. Blond, he challenged “Wanna see how broken I am? Give me a computer!”

That deadly Great White smile flashed with even brighter. “I think we have a ways to go before I actually hand you your greatest weapon. Of course, there are... other ways you can convince me that you are succumbing to your training.” Again the hand on his leg, squeezing gently, meaningfully. “Give me reasons to stay longer, shielding you from our enthusiastic Mr. White and Mr. Pink.”

Jenson lifted his chin. “I get it. It puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again?” he huffed.

Mr. Blond actually chuckled. “Well, I am sure we can arrange lotion.” Still, he removed his hands, folding them in his lap. “Do you wish me to leave? Knowing what waits for you once I am gone?”

Jenson was ready with a snap reply, but it died on the tip of his tongue. The memory of that room... and all he had experienced so far was a little water! He couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through his body, igniting every bruise and ache. He tried to bit back a groan, but he just wasn’t strong enough.

“Shhhh.” Mr. Blond offered comfort with a gentle touch on his bare foot. 

His captive jerked his foot away, pulling up his legs, wrapping his one arm around his knees. 

Mr. Blond smiled. “You know, she was right, our sweet little Doctor.”

Jenson blinked at him.

“Hope.” the wicked man continued, his voice soft, caring. “Hope is the cruelest of mistresses.”

Jake felt his chest tighten, remembering his conversation with the Doctor. He had thought she was a possible friend, a light in all this darkness. But she had betrayed him, exposed even more of him to this Great White predator. 

Of course she had betrayed him! She was probably given the same choice given him: lotion or hose. Information or pain! How could he expect her to go through that for him? She didn’t even know him! What made him think she would go through anything for him?!

And now he was really pissed off.

Leaning forward, he growled at his tormentor “If my options are you or the hose... I’ll chose the hose every time!”

Mr. Blond’s smile flickered. He slowly rose to his feet. “Well... perhaps you are not yet ready for options.” he admitted. “Once I leave, it will be sometime before I return. Ah, but fear not for a lack of entertainment. I understand Mr. White and Mr. Pink have quite a scheduled in plan for you. Do try to enjoy yourself. I know they will.” 

And then he was gone, out the door.

Jenson didn’t even have time to take a breath before Mr. Pink entered the room and gave him a grin.

0o0o0o0o0o0


	8. Eight

Chapter Eight

o0o0o0o0o0o

“No.” was Taylor’s repeated answer.

Clay ground his teeth. “Commander...” he started, taking a new approach. If he couldn’t get her cooperation for friendship sake, well, then, he’d pull out the ol’ superior officer crap!

But she was ready for that. “Uh-uh! No! Don’t even try to make it an order! I happen to know for a fact that this is an off the books request. So, unless you have something from General Morrison saying that this is a sanctioned mission, the answer is still no!” She looked up at him, her tone softening as she tried to reason with him. “Frank, these guys are hunting hackers. Look what they did to Jenson. And he was a highly trained combat specialist! And you want me to offer one of mine up for the taking? My kids? They’re kids! Not one of them has seen the outside of a lab since boot. Their idea of field work is when I force them to run track just to make sure their legs still work! When someone needed to be sent out into the field, we sent Jenson.”

“I don’t want to send anyone out into the field.” Clay protested. “I’m not even going to ask them to get up out of their seat. I just need a little search done.”

“You want to put a blaring spot light on them.” Taylor accused, crossing her arms over her chest. “The kid that does that search might as well stand on the roof and wave a big flag. They will know we have another hacker of some quality and they will come after him!” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Colonel Clay, but the answer is, still, NO!”

Clay clamped his teeth down on a rather colorful retort, forcing his fists to stay at his side. He might want to strangle the woman, but he couldn’t, all together, blame her. After all, he remembered all too well what happened to his own kid hacker. And that made him even angrier! 

The whole fucking episode was pissing him the fuck off!

With a growl, the Colonel spun on his heal and stormed out of the office. 

A few of the techs of topic glanced about with wide eyes at the angry stomping, hunkering down behind their computer screens. Even more evidence that these were techs, not soldiers.

Outside he was faced with, yet, more disappointment: Pouch without Roque.

Pouch shrugged. “They said they lost his paperwork. It’ll take another day or two to get him out.”

“Goddamn!” Clay roared. In a huff, he continued his stomping back to their barracks. He had pulled more than a few favors to tuck them away some off-books gear and transport. They had everything they needed to start the chase.  
Hell, start a fucking war!  
Except for, of course, a full team and a direction. Morrison seemed determined to keep Roque under lock and key until Gray was off base, and Grey seemed determined to not leave. “Fuck, fuck, fuck...” Clay growled almost the whole way back. 

They were almost there, when Pouch finally broke through the rant with “Um, boss... think we picked up a tail.”

Clay skidded to a halt and threw his man a frown over his shoulder.

Pouch raised his eyebrows and bobbed his head to his left.

Frowning even more, the Colonel looked over Pouch’s left shoulder. 

Just a few yards behind them was a mousy little thing with bunches of brown curls and huge brown eyes behind black rimmed, army issued eye wear. Her camo didn’t have a speck of dust nor fade anywhere, and her over sized, steel toed combat boots weren’t exactly regulations. Of course, neither was the florescent pink laptop she clutched to her chest as if it was her most prized possession on earth.

She had stopped when the men had and stood frozen in place when Clay looked at her, as if she and her florescent laptop could just blend into the environment around her and become invisible. After a moment or two, she figured out it wasn’t working and released her breath in a deep, shoulder dropping sigh. She inched forward and called in a stage whisper “Colonel Clay, sir... I wanna help... please?”

Clay frowned even more.

The girl almost yipped at the expression, hugging her computer even tighter.

But Clay waved to her. “Catch up then.” Then he turned and continued on to their barracks.

Pouch waited a moment for the girl to ease up to his side and smiled down at her. “Hi.” he offered. “He really is friendly.”

“Once you get to know him?” she squeaked.

Now Pouch frowned. “Oh, hell no. Once you get to know him, you know he’s a mean asshole.... but, until then... you wanna help us?”

Pouch brought the girl inside their tent barracks where Cougar was messing around with their go-bags, making sure they were ready to go, when and if they were ever to go. Clay was pacing across the back end of the tent where they had a table and chairs. 

The tent was actually meant for a much larger unit of twenty or so men, but Clay had commandeered it as soon as they hit the base for their rather small unit. They kept eight cots and moved in a couch and TV, fridge and other comfies. Their gear was always kept with them, not wanting to ever waste time on checking anything out of the armory. Particularly when some of their equipment was as special as those using it like Cougar’s rifle or Jenson’s gadgets And they had a dining-like table with chairs that they used for strategy meetings. Even though they spent most of their time in the field, there was nothing like coming back to all the comforts of home.

Pouch urged the girl forward to the table. 

Clay turned to face her as she approached. “You wanna help?” he asked her.

She nodded so vigorously the boys paused to wonder if her head would pop off.

“Um....Corporal...?”

“Crown, sir. Beatrice Crown, but fleshies call me Bea.” she smiled a little. 

“Fleshies?” Pouch inquired as he dropped into a seat.

Bea shrugged. “Fleshies! You know... non-digital, analogies, sloths....”

“Sloths?” Clay glanced at Cougar. “Isn’t that some sort of slow, rapey monkey thingy?”

Cougar shrugged.

“You guys!” Bea finally exclaimed, waving a hand at them. “You know! Not hackers!”

The three men looked at one another. Pouch said it for all of them “Why do I feel like I’ve just been insulted?”

Clay shook his head. Leaning on his knuckles across the table, he eyed the girl. “Does Commander Taylor know you’re here?”

“NO!” Bea cried just a little too quick. Then her voice dropped back down to that whisper of hers that could be heard from across the base. “You didn’t tell her did you? ‘Cause this is so off the grid and she’d Donky Kong me back to the nineties if she knew! I mean, she totally did not want me in communicant with you, no, sir...” Her words died out as she turned big eyes up at the Colonel. “I’m not exactly disobeying orders, sir. Not like she stamped anything with her `And that’s an order, geek squad!’ And I wasn’t gonna show you what she said she didn’t want me to. I was just gonna help you hunt down that ultra President Snow that took J and fry his ass like Sputnik!” The last was ground out in a very un-girl like manner.

Clay raised an eyebrow. He looked at Pouch. “President Snow?”

Pouch smirked. “Use the Jenson Translation app: Kick bad guy’s ass.”

Bea glanced at him and smiled almost shyly.

“How?” Cougar wanted to know, finally intrigued enough to leave the gear and take a seat at the table. He kicked back a seat for the girl.

The Corporal looked up at Clay hopefully.

Clay waved to the seat and dropped back into his own. “You think you can find Blond... Snow... whatever?”

She smiled very proudly at him. “I’ve found where the Dark Web is auctioning off hackers. I can pinpoint them down to a country...” she hesitated, the smile falling away.

“But?” Clay pushed.

“It’s just the broker, but he’s got the best goods. And his set up is sending out the same traces that J’s tracker picked up. I’d bet dollars to doughnuts it’d was done by the same programmer.” she quickly dropped into the seat and opened her laptop. “It’s a complex system and I couldn’t have hacked it if I hadn’t delved into J’s Cloud of tricks, but I found a back door and I can view his merchandise and...”

“You mean people?” Pouch growled out. “Like Jenson?”

Bea shrank a little. “I was trying to... not get emotional... The Commander says it’s a problem... me getting bubbly like.” She pouted.

Cougar glared at Pouch who had it in him to look shamefaced. 

But Clay was over it. “You can find him? This broker?” he demanded.

Beatrice Crown looked him straight in the eye. “Yes, sir.” she said most certainly. “A little more digging and I’ll have his banking system. Then we follow the money...”

“How long?”

“A couple more days.” she admitted with a frown. “There’s an auction day after tomorrow. Money will be flowing like the River Styx. I’ll launch a tag, use J’s own tracker...”

“It didn’t work.” Clay protested.

“Sir?”

“Jenson’s tracker: it didn’t work.”

Bea tilted her head. “Yes, it did, sir. Perfectly!”

Clay straitened up. “Perfectly?” 

She nodded. “Yes, sir. I told Commander Taylor myself.” She hesitated again. “She... didn’t order me not to say anything... not about that...” but now she was very uncertain of her place at the table.

Pouch and Cougar both frowned at their Colonel. “Boss,” Pouch started, “Why’d she tell you...”

Clay leaned forward again. “What did she tell you not to talk to me about?” he suddenly wanted to know.

0o0o0o0

Time didn’t have any meaning.   
There was no sun nor stars.  
No ringing of the bells nor tick toc of a clock.  
No dinner time nor tea time.  
No sleep nor rest.

There was simply pain. 

Unending, continuous, torturous pain.

Occasionally Jenson would wake up in his room, chained back to the bed. He must have passed out. The Doctor would be there, but she didn’t speak to him any more. She only confirmed to his tormentors that he would survive the latest of tortures and that he should eat before they continued. A milky bowl of some sort of chowder would be shoved at him and he would eat it as slowly as possible, trying to delay the return to the Shower Room.

Back when he still had some strength he had thrown the bowl at Pink. That only resulted in having the bowl slammed repeatedly into his face and a quicker trip to the Shower Room. 

Mr. Pink introduced him to nipple piercing then and the many interesting uses of very hot wax.

After what must have been forever, Jenson decided to stop eating. 

See how they liked torturing a dead man!

And that was when he found out what the chair with the tubes was for. 

Never had he felt something like that before, tubes being shoved down his throat, mush being poured down a funnel directly into his gut. Every last bit of him lost from his own control, even his own ability to swallow. To complete the theft of his dignity as a human being, Mr. Pink took great joys in forcing a thin hose up under the seat. Jenson screamed around the feeding tube as another tube was inserted through his rectum and his insides filled with hot water until his gut felt like it would explode. And they emptied him out, hosing out his insides like some recycled container.   
And they did it again...  
And again...  
And again.....

He woke up in his room, curled around himself, feeling like nothing more than an empty shell, and cried. Nothing had made him feel so utterly helpless and forsaken as them ripping away even the control over his own bodily functions.

When again he was handed a bowl of chowder, he obediently ate ever last bite. Then held his bowl up for inspection.

It was then that Mr. Pink and Mr. White left the room without dragging him back to the Shower Room. Instead Mr. Blond returned.

“Hello, my brilliant beauty.” cooed the man as he settled on the side of the bed, his leg pressed against Jenson’s. “I head you had a rough month.”

A month?!  
Had it been a month since Blond had last been there?  
Would anyone still be looking for him after a month?

With a groan, Jenson rolled on his side, away from the villain. His cuffed arm jangled as it hit the end of his lead.

Mr. Blond scooted even closer, pressing against his back. “Ah, my poor boy.” he soothed, his hand gliding over Jenson’s bare leg, up his thigh, over his ribs. “You’ve lost weight. I can feel your little bones.” And he did, letting his hands roam. He leaned close to whisper in Jenson’s ear. “Do you wish me to stay?”

Jenson hiccuped back a sob, ever so terrified of what Mr. Blond had in mind. But he was even more afraid of returning to the Shower Room. So, squeezing his eyes close, he forced a single nod.

Mr. Blond’s hand glided down to his crotch, rubbing over his dick, and hummed in his ear.

His captive’s eyes snapped open, but he froze in place. Staring at something on the floor, he tried to ignore the soft kisses on the back of his neck. 

Detaching himself from his body, he focused on that one item on the floor that was suddenly oh so important to him: a metal spoon left behind from a thrown bowl.

His salvation!

0o0o0o0o0o0


	9. Chapter Nine

0o0o0o0o0o0

Chapter Nine

o0o0o0o0o0o

Grey and his men left the morning of the auction. After a visit to Commander Taylor’s office, Grey came busting through the base, calling to his people. They dropped everything and practically ran for their Black Hawks and off they went without so much as a “been fun.”

Clay watched it all, with arms crossed over his chest, teeth grinding, and a few choice words on the tip of his tongue.

It was Roque though who put words to thought: “What the fuck those bastards know that we don’t?!” he snarled. He almost snatched one of the said bastards as he hurried pass, but, being out of the stocks for only a few hours now, he was hesitant to return. “We really just gonna sit here and watch with our thumbs up our butts? We should, at least, take Taylor down! What the hell is she playin’ at anyhow?”

“We wait until we know where the money goes.” Clay grumbled yet again. Truth was he had a powerful urge to wrap his hands around Taylor’s throat and strangle the life out of her. It was bad enough she had betrayed him. But her betrayal cost him one of his men! And that was gonna be answered for! But, Clay wanted to know why. He needed to understand why! He’d shared more than a few nights with the woman, and, though it had never been anything more than friends with benefits, they had been a comfort and support for each other. And, forget him, Jenson had practically been one of her own kids, in there all the time with the rest of the egg heads, pounding away at the keys to their own little universes. 

How could she do this?   
Why did she do this?  
There had to be a reason!  
Didn’t even have to be a good reason, just about any reason would do.

Oh, it wouldn’t earn her any forgiveness, but he still had to know.

“Hey, guys.” Pouch called over the comm they had taken to using the last two days to stay in touch even on the base. Between hard feelings with Grey’s men and Taylor’s betrayal, Clay didn’t want to risk anyone else. “Game’s on.”

Clay pushed away from the ATV he had been leaning against. “Leave Cougar to watch her. I want you inside.” he told Roque as he turned and lead the way back to their barracks. 

“Don’t trust me now?” the big man huffed, but followed none the less.

“I trust you.” Clay assured. “I trust you to go in there, braking heads, and fucking the whole thing up.”

Roque smirked. “Well, as long as you trust me...”

Inside little Bea was surrounded by laptops, her own florescent pink one center stage. Pouch was pacing behind her chair like an expectant father. 

“Pouch, go double the eyes on Taylor!” Roque snapped the order, seeing that the man was strung so tight he was ready to snap. They all were, come to think of it. They were all half expecting to see their very own Jenson up on the bidding block.

Pouch gave a quick nod, before quickly exiting. 

He was barely out the door when Bea exclaimed “Fuck me sideways from Tuesday!”

Clay and Roque exchanged amused glances. Roque cleared is throat. “Well, little sister, as... entertaining as that sounds... huh?”

The Corporal glanced at them over the top of her screens. “It’s Firefly!” When both men just blinked at her, she smacked one of the screens with the back of her hand. “Firefly... Dougy! Corporal Doug Cantrell! Techie... hacker! One of us! He was supposed to have died like eight months back when the convoy he was with got shagged to bits! He’s first sale!”

“From your unit?” Clay asked.

Bea shook her head. “Nay, he was with one of the Ranger bunches. A real combat trained brain... like Jenson... but not as slick. No one was as slick as J. But he could get his guys into those high tech joints like labs and stuff that they specialized in.” She looked back down at her screen. “He just sold for, like, little more than nine million euros... that’s ten million US dollars.” She huffed. “If that’s what their opening the auction with, there’s gonna be a shit load of money to follow. Tagging that sale now... and the buyer. If we can get Firefly back...”

Roque stepped forward to remind her “We want the dealer, Corporal. Focus on him! From him we can hunt down his buyers.”

She looked up as if she was gonna protest. After all, Firefly had been her friend. But her quick mind knew the big man was right. She could save Firefly and lose another dozen in his place. Or she could hunt the man behind the curtain and, eventually, save them all. Setting her jaw, she turned her attention back to her work. 

Clay stepped away from the tapping of fingers on keyboards, wandering until he bumped into Jenson’s cot. They had left it completely untouched, exactly the same as the day he had left it. there had been a couple of guys that tried to pack up his stuff to send it back to his sister’s, but Clay put a stop to that. 

No one, under penalty of death, was to even talk to Jenson’s sister and niece, much less send his stuff back along side an empty coffin! He’d be damned if that baby girl’s memory of her uncle would be a flag draped over a duffle bag and computer case! 

“Clay.” Roque spoke up from his elbow. “You think Taylor sold out Cantrell too?” he wondered, his voice low as not to distract their borrowed hacker.

His Colonel looked up at him. “How long has she been doing this? How many kids....?” he shook his head in disbelief. “I had thought, hoped, that if it had just been Jenson, then maybe it was a mistake or she was trying to protect us or.... something.”

“Wouldn’t have made it any better.” growled the big man.

“No? Betraying one man verses your entire country?”

Roque shrugged. “You willing to betray one man, you’d be willing to betray your whole damn country! One or many doesn’t matter one tiny shit. The action, itself, little or big, is the damnation. There is never, ever an excuse for betraying your own!” 

Franklin Clay looked the man over, his partner in more than their share of fights, his best friend, his first of brothers that made up his Losers! He couldn’t imagine Roque even being acquainted with betrayal well enough to be so passionate about it. He was too loyal to break a trust and everyone else was too afraid to do so to him. 

“Got the first bank!” Bea announced. “Hong Kong... wait.... Netherlands... Germany.... well, shit, the idjits are splintering it up and spreading it around.”

“Meaning?” Clay asked for clarification.

The girl sighed. “Meaning they either have a corporation sharing the income, or they’re splintering it up, bouncing it around to wash it before it’s sent to it’s destination. Basic, smart criminal activity, but makes things complicated.” 

“So...” Clay pushed.

“So...” she answered, tapping away at her keyboards. “They aren’t dumping it in one account before breaking it up. Each sale is going to different accounts and splintering from there. So... find the smallest sale, because it can’t be splintered as much, put the trace on that, follow it....”

“Don’t need the details, little sister.” Roque complained. 

She looked up at the two men. “Well, sirs, I’ve tagged the prey. Now we just run it to ground. May take a few hours. They’re bouncing all over the world, but digital money moves a hell of a lot quicker than the ol’ silver back did.” She hesitated, glancing at a couple of her screens.

Clay sighed. He was getting used to her quirks. “Ask.” he told her.

“Sir, I know Firefly isn’t the goal, and I’ve got trackers on, like, half a dozen sales already... While I keep an eye on the trace, I’d like to see what I can do to locate the sales. I mean they’re people, real live people, just like J... and me! If not for a twist of fate...” She shrugged. “What else do they have but a little hope that someone’s looking for them?”

Clay gave Roque a sideways glance and a lopsided smile.

Roque huffed. “Little sister, you are a champion of bleeding hearts.”

“What do you need?” Clay asked.

“Coffee and milkduds.” Bea quickly answered, diving right back into her computer work without seeing if the request would be taken seriously.

Again Clay looked at Roque with an amused smile. “Coffee and milkduds.”

Roque shrugged. “Lady wants coffee and milkduds, lady gets coffee and.... where the hell am I going to find milkduds?!”

0o0o0o0

Corporal Jake Jenson hated himself.

He was weak.  
Sick...  
Needy...  
Helpless...

No wonder no one came for him. It was probably a relief to be rid of him. No one really wanted a tech in the field anyway. They were expensive and fragile and stupid about the real, physical world.

No, the Losers were better off without him.  
They were!  
Absolutely!  
Without a doubt!

Another round of tubing, followed by a “comforting” visit from Mr. Blond, then another round of tubing... like they finally figured out what would brake him, tubing had become their favorite form of torture.

And they were right.

They kept his face clean shaven.  
They told him when and where to stand, sit, breath.  
They forced him to eat when they wanted him to.  
They made him shit when they wanted him to.  
They put his glasses on his face and took them off.  
They...  
They.....  
They.......!  
They had taken everything from him!  
They even took his dick in hand and stroked off a hand job like they were trying to milk him dry. Well, at least that’s what Mr. Blond did on every “comforting” visit. Jerked him off while kissing the back of his neck and whispering in his ear. “Release some of the pressure” he’d say as he ran his hands over Jenson’s body like he owned it.

And didn’t he?   
After all, who else wanted him?

He could feel the edge of his Salvation dig into the flesh of his palm, but he never moved when Mr. Blond was there, touching him, laying his claim, making him...

Making him a thing, a commodity, an object for sale.

The bed shifted as Mr. Blond rose to his feet.

Jenson swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes as tight as he could, feeling the last of his tears roll down his cheek. He fought the panic that began to creep up his gut, the same panic that rose every time Mr. Blond left, leaving so Pink and White could return. The same panic that begged him to ask Mr. Blond to stay just a little longer.  
He didn’t beg.  
He hadn’t begged.  
Not yet.  
Mr. Blond would always ask before he touched “Do you want me to stay?” and then he would touch only after Jenson bobbed his head.  
But Jenson had never once asked him to stay after, no matter how close he came, how desperate he felt, how tight the panic gripped him.

But, this time, Mr. Blond didn’t simply walk away. “My birlliant beauty.”

Something else they had taken from him: his name! No one called him by his name anymore! 

Mr. Blond ran one finger lightly down Jenson’s spine, eyes focused on the shiver that followed. “I have a task for you.” he sang to his captive. “Look what I have.”

Jenson didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to know what would come next. Mr. Blond had yet to go further than jerking him off, but wasn’t that just the next step? The next “would you want me to stay?” Still, what chioce was there? Submit, or more time in the Shower Room. 

He squeezed his Salvation harder.

Jenson turned his head and forced himself to look at what Mr. Blond held out to him.

A cellphone.  
.  
.  
.  
A cellphone?

Jenson turned scrutinizing eyes up to his tormentor. A little whisp of his old self slipped out from hiding long enough to ask “You gonna let me call in an airstrike?” The wisecrack sounded as if it came from someone else, his own throat so strained and scraped from the feeding hose.

Mr. Blond chuckled. “Well, I’m sure you could try, but, alas, this phone is only capable of receiving calls from one other number and calling that same number.” he explained. “This is our sweet Doctor’s phone. I want you to fix it so that I may track her phone at all times.”

The hacker extraordinaire frowned. With a wince, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and slid back against the head board. Reaching for the phone with one hand, he tucked his Salvation under his leg, out of sight.Turning the device over in his hands, he took a moment to examine it before saying “I don’t get it. Call the service provider. You got one of those parental safety programs, they can link you up all free and without breaking any laws.”

Mr. Blond’s Great White Shark smile never wavered. “Are you saying no?” he wondered. “You want me to leave a not come back for a very long time? I’m sure Mr. Pink and Mr. White can find a way to keep you... entertained.”

The panic tightened around his chest again. “I can do it... will do it.” he hurried to answer. He shifted his leg, feeling his Salvation, a poke of hope, a dream of freedom... an inspiration.... 

He tried really hard to keep his expression from changing. “You got an account I can link it to, it’d take me something like five.” he told the man and snapped the device on.

It didn’t take him half that long. After all, the path was already there. He simply borrowed it... from Pouch of all people... and replaced the target signal, added another hunter cell and...

Jenson handed it back to Mr. Blond.

Mr. Blond smiled his king of predators smile. He sat back down on the bed after tucking the phone into his vest pocket without so much as a second glance. “I believe I can spare a few more minutes for my favorite commodity.” he purred, running a hand the inside of Jenson’s leg. "Release some of that pent up pressure you must be suffering."

Biting his lip, Jenson looked away.

0o0o0o0o0o0


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten.

o0o0o0o0o0o

“Jerk”  
“Bitch”  
“Jerk”  
“Bitch”  
“Jerk”  
“Bitch”  
“Jerk”

“I swear I am gonna gut whoever’s asshole enough to...” came a typical four am good morning from Roque.

“Sorry!” came a squeak from Bea as she jerked awake, sitting up from her and tapping a couple of keys, turning her alarm off. Readjusting her glasses, she started to read. 

Personal lights began to click on around the barracks. 

“Was that Supernatural?”

Pouch tilted his light to shine directly at Cougar. “Did you just ask that?! Are you channeling some inner Jenson or something?”

Cougar growled. 

“Okay, maybe not.” Pouch let his light dangle, turning his attention instead to their borrowed hacker.

Clay and Roque were already closing in on her. “What do you have?”

“We have an end stop to.... huh.” Bea frowned in the light of her laptop. 

Roque looked at Clay. “Why is it the smartest people always seem to think ‘huh’ explains it all?”

Clay shook his head. “Little more, Bea.” he encouraged.

The girl looked up at them. “The money stopped at a hospice for rescues from the illegal slave trade in Libya.” She tapped her screen. “I know this joint.”

Pouch appeared with a fresh cup of coffee for her. “Do a lot of slave trading do you?”

“Maybe.” She turned to look up at Clay. “Commander Taylor got us all to make a donation for Christmas to help victims of the slave trade. This was one of the joints on the list!” She frowned. “Why would a slave auction send money to a slave victims rescue?”

“Oh, that’s an old sly, using the hospice like a double sale car lot.” Pouch offered. When everyone frowned at him, he shrugged. “You know... used car dealers sell a car, steal it, then sell it again.” He waved a hand at the computers. “Whoever is selling a slave, ‘rescuing’ them, then selling them again.... and getting the added income of donations why he’s at it! I know some gangs back home that’d’ve banked on an idea like that.”

“Gods!” Bea whistled. “Can you imagine what they must go through? I mean, there’s the horror of being snatched and sold in the first place. But, then, just when you think it’s over, that you’ve been save... beep and bop, they yank the rug right out from under you again. Must shatter hope all to pieces.” she sniffed and dropped her eyes like the thought was devastating enough to bring tears to her eyes. “How could she do this? Support something like this?”

Roque reached out to give the girl’s shoulder a comforting squeeze, but he looked at Clay with rage in his eyes. “Can we go and chat with this bitch now?” he snarled.

Colonel Franklin Clay nodded once. “Cougar, Pouch... load up our gear. Bea, find me everything you can about that hospice.” Then he marched out the door, Roque practically skipping right behind.

Pouch grinned at Bea, materializing a box of milkduds for her. “You did good, little sister.” he told her, before heading off to his bunk to grab his pack. 

As he did before every mission, he checked his satellite phone, just for a peek at his girl, reassure himself that she was still home, safe and sound, and no where near what ever hell he might be riding into. Even if she was just a blip on a map, it did Pouch’s soul a world of good to see his Jolene safe and sound....

“What the fuck?!” Pouch snapped upright.

Cougar leaped up from whatever he was doing, gun suddenly in hand, ready to shoot whatever had caused the out burst. When he saw nothing, he glared at Pouch. “Que?!”

Pouch held up the device. “What the fuck is Jolene doing just outside of Libya?” he demanded.

“Libya?” Bea popped up from where she had taken cover behind her screens. “Like our Libya? Slave auction/rescue Libya?”

Cougar frowned. “Que?” he asked again.

But then Pouch’s eyes went big, huge even. He shook the satellite phone almost frantically. “It’s J! That son of a bitch did this! He’s still alive!” When he looked down at the screen, though, the blip was back home, safe and sound and Jolene. Pouch shook it angrily. “Where’d he go? Dammit!”

Bea was suddenly at his side, standing on his cot so she could look over his shoulder. “Engineers!” she huffed. “Shaking it won’t fix it. And don’t even think of hitting it with some pipe wrench or ax or whatever you use to fix a flat.” She took the phone from his hands, telling him “I’ll dig in its memory. Give me a few. You... you do something... grunt like.”

Now he frowned at her as he watched her walk back to the table. “Just for that, I want a milkdud!”

“And I want a worgan. Keep dreaming.” the girl snapped back before settling down to her task.

0o0o0

General Morrison was grumpy.

Not that he was usually a happy, daisy picking, singing ‘Zip-a-do-da’ sort of guy to begin with. But, now, standing behind his desk at four in the fucking morning listening to his coffee maker sputter to life...   
THAT’S FUCKING RIGHT!   
HE FUCKING WELL HAD NOT EVEN HAD ANY FUCKING COFFEE YET!  
.....he was not a happy camper!

So, when Commander Taylor stepped into his office, her uniform just barely in place enough to make an appearance, he got straight to the point.

“Commander, are you selling my fucking men to the fucking slave trade?” he roared before she could even finish her salute.

Taylor nearly tripped even though she had been standing in one place. “Sir?” she managed, glancing about for an explanation to the summons and out burst. When she finally saw Colonel Clay leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, a glow of seething rage in his eyes, a sudden shock of terror ran right through her. “Sir.” she said again, turning her attention to the General. “I don’t know what nonsense Clay...”

“Colonel Clay!” Roque snapped from behind her, cutting off escape.

The woman stiffened, but she kept her eyes on Morrison, her tone even. “I don’t know what you’ve been told, Sir, but, I assure you, I have never had anything but the lives and well being of the men and women under my command...”

“What about the rest of them?” Clay demanded. 

Taylor snapped a glare at him. “Do you have my Corporal Crown? She has been absent from her duties for four days now.”

“What about the rest of those men and women?” Clay roared, surging forward enough that Taylor took a frightened step back. “The combat techs? The ones you helped snatch and sell? The ones not under your command?”

Taylor quickly glanced at the General, looking for some sort of interference. 

But Morrison tilted his head to one side, looking at a handful of papers, profiles, of his soldiers, all presumed dead, that now he had to wonder about. “Answer the question, Mrs. Taylor.” he commanded.

The Mrs. hit Taylor like a blow. She knew then that it was over. She was trapped in a room with three men: two would and could see her dead; the third just might be alright with that.

She turned to Clay. “I protected my kids!” she snapped. “They were coming for hackers, and they didn’t care how they got them! You think my kids would survive what they would do to them? They’re kids!”

“And what’s Jenson?” Roque snapped back.

“Not my kid!” Taylor waved a hand in the air. “And he’s a soldier! A combat trained soldier! He’ll survive!”

“As what?” Clay wanted to know. “Some slave? You know he won’t break! They could torture him to death! And he will never break! He won’t hack a fucking porn site for them, forget about betraying his country!”

She stepped up into his face and hissed “He will! He’ll go through hell, but he will break! The Doctor breaks everyone!”

General Morrison interrupted. “Now who the hell is the Doctor?” he wanted to know.

Taylor stepped back, glancing at the General, but keeping her attention on Clay. “When I was a kid, eighteen, I took a run around Europe before college. They snatched me out of India. I thought the Doctor was a friend, someone who went through what I was going through, who’d be my friend, who’d help me.” She shook her head. “The Doctor... She’s the master! She picks out the brains that she can use and decides how to use them.” Taylor locked eyes with the man before her. “The Doctor has Jenson. You’ve got nothing left to save.”

o0o0o0o

No more!  
That was the decision.  
He would not go through it again.  
He could not!   
Not the Shower Room!  
Not Mr. Blond’s touching!  
He couldn’t do it again!

It was on the short walk down that cold hall to the Shower Room that he planned to use his Salvation. he dragged one foot, playing hurt and done-in.

Fact that he was hurt and done-in was beside the point. But Corporal Jake Jenson of Colonal Clay’s infamous Losers was not finished yet!   
Or so his heart kept on screaming to his beat up, exhausted body that just wanted to lie down and die. ‘Course his brain just went on humming “Final Count Down” which really wasn’t helping the whole focus thing.   
Shit would be a whole lot easier if everything just got on the same page!

But he drifts.

Focus!  
Short walk...  
Salvation........

Jenson balked at the door to the Shower Room.

Mr. Pink growled, reaching back to grab his arm. Wasn’t the first time he had to force his victim into that room.

With a flick of his wrist, Salvation flipping from the palm of his hand, the handle of the metal spoon held out like a shiv.

Pink had expected him to fall back, resist. He did not expect his beaten and destroyed boy to leap at him. And then his vision exploded with white agony, a wordless shriek tore from his throat. Releasing his prisoner, he fell back, hands clawing at the small spoon handle that had been plunged into his eye.

Jenson stumbled back out of reach. Flat against the wall, he stared at his handiwork, frozen in shock at what he had just did. 

Blood bubbled out of the man’s ruptured eye, flowing down his face and splattering across his pink tank top. Tears blinded his other eye which he had squeezed shut anyway, in case it was also targeted. He ground his teeth, bloody hands feeling about for the weapon and the damage it had done. Apparently he still had enough sense not to yank it out. Another wordless shriek and Pink began to flay his arms about, blindly searching for his attacker. He stomped his big, booted feet as if he might smash his hated nemesis under his heel. When he couldn’t seem to find Jenson, he roared to the ceiling “I will crush you! Crush!”

The words snapped Jenson into action. Glancing in each direction, making sure the coast was clear, Jenson dove under Pink’s grasping hands. Coming up behind the big man, he snatched Cougar’s hat off his head.

Pink spun about, madly swinging his fists through the air.

Jenson ducked and twisted out of reach, diving under the swings again, and made a run for the door with the orange glowing window.

he didn’t know what was beyond that door and its foggy window.   
It had to be sunlight!   
Right?  
But he couldn’t stay. He couldn’t do this any more.It was escape or die!

“Little beauty!” Pink called after him.

Jenson paused, his hand reaching out for the door knob only inches away. His chest ached, his heart thrashing against his ribs, his lungs gasping for air.Everything ached, even his head pounded from the blood rushing to places it hadn’t rushed to like this in a long time now.

So, he leaned against the wall to take a breath and looked back.

Mr. Pink stood in the hallway, his massive form seeming to fill it. Fists hung at his side like a pair of dangling wrecking balls. “You got nowhere to go, little beauty. No clothes, no prospect, no hope. You’re just a fragile, weak, little geek. Don’t make this worse than you already have. If we gotta hunt you, little beauty, you’ll wish it was the sex pens for you, whorin’ your ass to every extreme perv we can find!”

This close to escape, Jenson huffed. “Seriously? You call that reassurance.... One-eyed Jack?”

He turned back to continue his escape only to find the door already swinging open. For a breath, he thought all was lost, all that for nothing! all he had managed was to make things much, much worse.

But then he saw who had opened the door.

“Dr. Who!” He reached for her. “Come on, we’re checking out of this hotel! Service is crappy!”

Her response was lost in the zap of a taser and the falling of the world.

0o0o0o0o0o0


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

o0o0o0o0o0o 

......."Jake!" Clay suddenly called before they could push him through the door. When Jenson looked back at him, grabbing the door frame so he could stop for one last hope, Clay swore to him "I will find you! I will get you back!"

The kid actually forced a smile and a half-hearted shrug. "I know."..........

It was closing in on a month later.

Colonel Franklin Clay opened his eyes to watch what just might be his promise finally happening. 

Roque, Cougar, and Pouch were loading the last of their gear into an Airbus, the occasional Special Ops man stepping out to offer a hand.

“They’ll get you close, but you’ll have to steal some sort of transport when you land.” General Morrison was explaining. “They offered to detour and give you a hand, but, if we’re gonna catch those poor boys from the auction, they’ve gotta keep moving.”

“A ride is all we need.” He paused and gave the General a side ways glance. “Did you say steal...?”

Morrison shrugged. “You get caught, you’re on vacation, remember? If you get really caught, blame it on Grey and his storm troopers. DOD can handle a little bad press. Shit, they practically invented bad press!” He ground his teeth. “You’ll still have hours to drive through rough country, so don’t dilly dally and don’t waste time negotiating. Once those Sep. Ops boys hit the slave auction, all hell is likely to brake loose. Best you have your boy free and clear before then.”

Clay nodded once. “I’ll get him back!” he swore, his voice low enough that the General knew it was more an oath to himself than to him. 

“Frank.” Morrison turned to face his Colonel now, dropping all pretense of commanding officer to his underling.

Clay responded instantly, turning and giving the man his complete attention. After all, how often does a general approach you man to man?

“If you find our boy alive, you get him out and you take him somewhere safe and you take the time to put him back together. If half of what Taylor said is true, he’s gonna need a lot of putting the pieces back together. I can give you a month of leave. You need longer, contact me and I’ll do what I can. But that boy is your one and only concern. Leave Blond and this Doctor whoever to Grey and his goons. They’re only half a day behind you, so be quick. And keep Jenson away from Grey! That DOD bastard will be just pissin’ his pants to debrief him. And they’re not exactly known for being gentle.” He shook his head sadly. “I failed him on this one. I never thought of them as anything more than kids playing computer games. I never even dreamed that they, themselves, would be ranked as weapons. Should have protected them. Hell, we lock up the armory, but we let brains like Jenson’s wander free nilly.”

“Brain’s like Jenson’s need to be free nilly. ‘Else, you just suffocate them. That’s why this slave crap will never really work. You can’t chain up a hacker and whip them into submission. That just destroys what makes them... them!” Clay couldn’t believe that he, himself, actually understood that. 

“Well, that may be.” Morrison took on a very deadly look then. “But, when you hit the ground, if you find our boy dead... then you burn it all and salt the bones! You let those bastards know hell hath no fury like the United States Army!”

“Yes, Sir!”

Morrison jerked his head toward the plane that was begining to run its engines. “Better get. Don’t want to be late for this show. And, Colonel!” The General raised his voice over the engine roar. “Good huntin’!

Clay snapped off a salute, before turning and running for the plane.

General Morrison watched at the Airbus taxied out onto the runway then took off into the sky. He stood and watched, his staff mulling around behind him, waiting for orders. He watched until the aircraft was just slipping from view before offering one last “Good huntin’, boys. May God have your six.”

0o0o0o0

It was the plunge into the ice bath that shot life through Jenson’s limbs like he was struck by lightening. Flaying about frantically, ice cubes flying everywhere, he tried to grab the edges of the slippery ceramic tub and pull himself up and out of the water.

But a hand landed on the top of his head and pushed him back under.

Jenson’s first lungful of anything was of the freezing water. Instantly his chest tightened painfully, crushing his lungs and heart. Every muscle cramped from the cold until he was sure he must have looked like some exotic Celtic knot, twisted this way and that.

He swung his fists blindly, knocking knuckles against the hard sides of the tub or catching a sharp edge ice cube, cutting his knuckles. he tried to kick, but that only off balanced him that he slid deeper under. 

When his thoughts began to fade and the world swirled around a dark hole, the hand grabbed a handful of hair and jerked his head back up out of the water.

Sputtering and coughing, Jenson gasped for air. Frantically he wiped at his eyes, trying to free them of the icy water so he could see again, even if bleary.

But the first sight he managed to decipher was one that had him wishing for another dunking. At the foot of the tub was Pink with a blood stained bandage over one eye and a hateful snear on his face. Cougar’s hat had been re-seated on his head as if adding insult to injury.

“Good morning, you little fuck.” he snarled. “They say ‘eye for an eye’ they do. But you’re pretty eyes and fingers and brain is what’s gonna make them stinkin’ rich. So, they say, they do... ‘eye for toes!’”

Jenson’s half frozen mind couldn’t understand what he was saying. The words, sure enough, but what they meant? What Pink meant?

Then the big man dipped a hand in the icy water and grabbed his captive by the ankle. He yanked his right foot up with such force, Jenson slipped under the water again. White, with a tight grip in his hair, pulled his head back up, and held him by the chin so he could watch what Pink was doing.

Pink produced a pair of sheers and positioned them over Jenson’s second toe. “Snip, snip.” 

Jenson screamed as his toe fell from his foot and dropped into the water. “Fuck! Fuck, you fucking asshole!” he screamed through the pain, trying to kick his bleeding foot free.

But Pink wasn’t done yet. He moved the sheers over his fourth toe.

“No, don’t!” Jenson started to plead.

“Snip, snip.”

Again he screamed, falling back into the water, now pink with his blood.

“Enough for today.” White warned.

Pink threw his foot back into the water and watched as Jenson curled up on himself among the floating ice cubes, blood, and toes. “Don’t think that’s it, you little shit. Half my eyes, half your toes! We’re just getting started.” Still, he threw the sheers off to the side and backed away.

Jenson wasn’t completely aware of being carried back to his room and laid out on the bed. He tried to curl himself back up again, to protect himself, to ward off the cold and the pain, but both arms were stretched up over his head, both shackled this time to the head board. When his ankle was grabbed again, he jerked back to consciousness, trying to kick his foot free.

“Be still.” came a feminine voice.

Jenson fell back into the bed. “Dr. Who...” he sighed.

“Just the Doctor.” she corrected. “Oh, see what hope does to you.” she chided as she began the task of bandaging the bleeding foot.

Jenson gritted his teeth, tears streaming down his already wet cheeks. “Fuck.... fuck, that hurts.” he managed through chattering teeth. “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfu....”

“Enough.” the Doctor spoke again, her voice soft, her tone gentle. “You should rest while you can.”

God, resting sounded heavenly. But easier said than done when one was shivering so bad, every muscle cramping, his pulse vibrating through his head, and a foot on sheer fire. And whatever she was doing down there, wasn’t helping one goddamn bit!

Jenson lifted his head just enough so he could see her. That was when he saw that he hadn’t been the only one to suffer. “What happened to your face?” he suddenly demanded, anger offering a flow of warmth to his gut.

The Doctor quickly put a hand over the bruise on her cheek. For a breath she sat frozen, her eyes downcast. But, then, composing herself, she returned to the task at hand. “There was a moment when it was thought that I had been ready to assist you in your ill planned escape.” she finally answered.

Jenson’s eyes narrowed. “Pink hit you?” Only a shift of her eyes, but it was enough. “I’m gonna kill him!”

“No!” she cried, turning to look at him. “Do you not see what your stubbornness has done? Do you think that those are the only toes you will lose?” Now she was angry. Turning her back to him, she warned “You are a fool. A stupid fool! You create problems for yourself, force them to hurt you, maybe, even, kill you! There is only so much damage that I can repair!” She set his bandaged foot down on the bed gently and stood up, snatching her bag to her chest. “If they can not turn you, they will kill you!”

Despite his nakedness, despite the shivering and teeth clattering, despite it all, Corporal Jake Jenson managed to look something of a heroic figure when he responded “Better to die free, than life as a slave!”

The Doctor rolled her eyes. “Americans!” she spat. “Freedom? Hope? These are dreams! Worthless dreams! They do not fill the belly or keep you warm and safe! I want to hear no more of it!” She spun about and started for the door almost at a run, when the door was opened.

Mr. Blond paused to hold it open for the escaping Doctor, smirking slightly at her rush. But then he turned his eyes on his prisoner. “You have disappointed me.” he announced as he crossed the room to stand over the bed.

Jenson dropped his head back and clamped his teeth together, forcing them to stop making noise. He locked his eyes on the ceiling and did his very best to ignore the man.

Mr. Blond was not discouraged. “Did you think we would not have detected the second signal from the phone? It was destroyed the moment it was activated.” He shook his head. “You sought to deceive me, my brilliant beauty. In fact, you have only deceived yourself. There is no rescue for you. No one is coming. No one cares.” Now he leaned forward directly into Jenson’s line of sight, forcing him to look at him. “You! Belong! To! Me!”

Each word in that last sentence seemed to deliver a physical blow to Jenson, forcing a gasp from his lips. He squeezed his eyes close, trying to regain control of his breathing.  
But he was so fucking cold...  
So fucking tired...  
So fucking hurt...  
So fucking alone!  
“Fuck you.” he tried to protest, but it came out as a sob.

“No worries, my beauty. I still adore you.” Mr. Blond assured softly, before rising up with a smile. “Obviously you must be punished for your behavior. An eye for an eye seems reasonable. as I am sure Mr. Pink has informed you, since your eyes are too valuable, another trade has been decided on. Half his eyes for half your toes.” He glanced down at Jenson’s feet. “And I see we’re almost half way there. I shall return once the punishment is complete and you have had time to heal. I’m sure you will be in a much more cooperative mood by then.” Mr. Blond actually steepled his fingers like a TV villian and chuckled to himself. “Perhaps, then, we’ll try the phone again.”

Jenson forced himself to glare at the man. “You put me in front of a computer any fucking time you want. Today, tomorrow, next year, fifty fucking years from now... it’ll always be the same! You put me in front of a computer and I’ll destroy you!” He raised his head as far as he could and growled out each word that followed: “No! One! Owns! Me! Freak!”

Mr. Blond’s smile vanished. For the first time since Jenson had met him, all amusement had completely and utterly left the man, insane or otherwise. His back stiffened and his hands dropped to his sides. After taking a moment to take control of himself, Mr. Blond said through a quivering jaw “I will leave you now. Remember and learn your lesson. The next one will not be nearly as pleasant as the last.”

That said, he turned and left the room, letting the door slam behind him. 

Jenson had a strange mixture of triumph and failure swirling in his gut, giving him the urge to puke. He had succeeded in chasing his hated enemy away. But, he knew, that also chased away any relief from the pain and torment that his minions would dish out on him. And now Pink was really motivated with the torture and all. 

Jenson stopped himself from looking down at his feet. 

He had known, even if he was rescued, it would be a long time before he was ever himself again. He’d sat through enough of Cougar’s nightmares to know things like this just didn’t get buried in the past. But, up until now, they had avoided doing anything permanent to his body, anything that would tell the story.

That was over now.

They had mangled his body, disfigured his foot. Will likely do so again. 

Even if there was a day, far in the future, that he could sleep through the night and, for a few hours, forget what happened to him...  
All he had to do was look down at his own body to remember it all!

There was no forgetting, no going back to who he was, no pretending nothing had ever happened. They had changed him, now and forever. and there was nothing he or anyone could ever do to fix it.

After all, how does one escape one’s own body?

0o0o0o0o0o0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've chewed on this chapter for a few days now and I just can't get comfortable with it. Not the content! Oh, all I wanted to get done got done, all I wanted to say got said.  
> It just feels awkward. Like the words aren't quite right.  
> What do you all think?


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

o0o0o0o0o0o

It had taken them nearly thirty-six hours to reach this point: a cool evening when Pouch drove their stolen van down the road where sat the Rescued Doves Hospice. Shadows were already turning into the simple darkness of night. A few lights buzzed on here and there in the windows of homes up and down the street as families settled in for the night. 

The Hospice itself was all but right out quiet. Two young women strolled through the front garden, holding onto each other and talking softly. A clank here and there from the kitchen windows as someone scrubbed out the pots and pans from dinner. A man was closing up the garages and putting the last of the lawn equipment away for the night. All in all, it seemed like a peaceful neighborhood on a small street in a small town. A place where the hospice would fit right in.

Pouch kept driving though, following the GPS programmed by Bea, leading them down the street and around the corner to a large field with a big, metal structure in the middle of it. The field was filled with bawling sheep, mulling around for whatever reason sheep mulled around for. This bunch? Probably looking for its wool. More than half of them had recently been sheered. 

Roque glanced at Cougar. “What do they call a wool gathering plant anyways?” he wondered for some reason.

Cougar shrugged.

Clay hissed at the two of them, hushing them.

Again, Cougar shrugged and turned his attention to his rifle that was carefully laid out on the bench along the right side of the van. He finished the last bit of adjustments before pulling the strap over his head, and beginning his inventory of smaller weapons.

Pouch finally pulled the van to a stop on the far side of the field. A wire fence still sat between them and their target, but it was no obstical for the Losers. 

Roque looked over Clay’s shoulder. “We sure that’s it?”

Pouch nodded to the GPS. “Bea said that was good for within a hundred yards. The signal came from that building.” He bobbed his head. “Seems a good place. How many folks wanna wade through sheep shit just to look in a window.”

Clay glanced at him, then back at his other men. “I can count three.” He nodded to his driver. “Stay here and let us know if anything heats up out here.” To Cougar and Roque: “Ready?”

Roque produced a long and wicked looking knife. “Lambchops here we come!”

o0o0o0o

Pink might have been limited on how many toes he could take, but his creativity had been turned up a notch on the torture dial. 

Jenson hung from the hook in the middle of the Shower Room, a stool below him just high enough that he was kneeling on it. The top of the stool was covered in tiny, sharp bits of stone that sliced at his legs whenever it became to much for him to hold his legs up. The agony in his back and thighs from trying to keep from touching those sharp bits was almost enough to distract him from the grinding sound of Pink sharpening his razor.

It was an old barber’s razor that Pink had taken to using as he pealed skin from the soles of his victim’s feet, ripping through all those little nerve endings that, on happier days, made feet so damn ticklish.

Funny how touched one way they sent giggles through little children, but touched another and grown men cried like babies, pleading for it to end, to just kill him already!

Jenson knew it wouldn’t be long now. Twice, now, White had to pull Pink off of him. One of these times, he wasn’t going to stop, wasn’t going to hold back. One of these times Pink was gonna kill him. Oh, sure, it would be a horrific death, but, at least it would finally be over.

It was the only way he was ever gonna get out of here. Jenson would never give in, never be owned. And escape failed. Rescue? No one was coming for him, his team either dead or moved on. Thus, the only way this was ever gonna stop was if Pink killed him.

Between the tubing and the cutting and the blood and the lack of sleep and the cold.... Jenson could almost believe he was mostly dead now. But then he’d feel the blade and pain was a very good indicator of life.

0o0o0o0

Cougar had taken up a sniper’s nest in what would have been a hay loft if it had been a barn. What he had found when he had first climbed up was a camera. Using a gift from Bea with her carefully written “Grunt Instructions,” Pouch talked the sniper through intercepting the signal and looping it. Actually, all he did was scrape some wire and clipped on an alligator clip to the bare wires. Bea’s contraption, already loaded with all the needed programs, did the rest.

When the little light turned green, Cougar bopped his comn, giving Clay and Roque the signal that the security system was officially hacked.

Clay and his long time partner moved down opposite walls from one another, eyes scanning every possible hiding place for any sign of the enemy. The large, barn-like building, though, was surprisingly empty.

In fact, for being a sheep’s barn, there was a noticeable lack of sheep or even sheep shit any where near the building. Inside was immaculate, almost like a show room for fancy cars for rich folk. Either side of the barn had pedestals with cages on them. Bright, sun colored lights shone down on each one as if illuminating what was displayed. The floor, instead of dirt and straw strewn as expected of a barn, was a shiny, black wood, so polished it held reflections, almost like they wanted to see the creatures in the cages from all angles. 

Human size cages...

Roque paused, looking up at one of them. “Well, shit.” he breathed as he realized the human size part. He glanced at Clay. “Slave pens.” he hissed.

The Colonel glared back, jerking his head toward the door at the very back of the room, reminding him of the mission. 

They knew that attached to the back of the barn was something of a residence, two stories, long. The door at the back of the barn looked like some country door, bottom half paneled, top an orange tinted window.

The two men reached the door at the same time. Roque looked back at Cougar and gave him a lazy salute, before he and Clay slipped through the door and disappeared down a hall.

0o0o0o0

Jenson threw his head back and screamed as he felt the cold blade slice through another toe, this one on his left foot. The pain was all consuming, making his head swim and his empty stomach lurch. His shoulder popped and stretched as instinct jerked him away from the pain, dragging his legs across the sharp stones.

Pink grabbed a handful of his hair, jerking his head back so he could hiss in his ear “Three down, two to go.”

“Sh... sh... sure.... you counted... right?” Jenson managed to gasp. He turned his eyes up and forced a smile. “I mean... one eye... an’ all...”

The torturer kicked the stool away, letting Jenson’s legs fall, his weight snapping on his already straining shoulders.

Jenson cried out as his shoulder finally dislocated.

“Enough!” came Mr. White’s intervention from where he stood near the door, arms crossed over his big chest. In the near dark of the room, the black man was nearly invisible if not for his brilliant white tank top. 

Pink threw his counterpart a glare. “What?!” he demanded.

“His shoulder.” White nodded at their victim. 

Pink frowned. “Fine.” he huffed. “He looks like he could use a bath anyway. You...”

“You get the ice.” When White spoke there was absolutely no emotion, yet the command was unmistakable.

Again Pink glared. But, taking the command, he huffed and snatched the large cart they used to haul the ice. 

When he was gone, White directed the water canon and turned it on, hitting Jenson with the powerful blast of icy water. The second canon blasted from the other direction a moment later.

The air was knocked out of Jenson as assuredly as if he had been gut punched. His ears filled with the torrent of rushing water. Blood puddled under his feet as he twisted on his dislocated shoulder. He would have cried out again if, as soon as he opened his mouth, it wasn’t filled with water, choking him.

Somewhere, so very far off, he could hear “I’m gonna rip your fuckin’ spleen out, you fuckin’ bastard!”

Jenson knew he must have slipped into unconsciousness. Or maybe he was hallucinating. How else could he be hearing the deep rumbling of Roque’s snarl?

0o0o0o0

Clay and Roque had eased down the hall, coming to the first door. Muffled sounds came from within. Angry voices, a scream.

Roque looked a question at his boss.

Clay ground his teeth. He knew it was rash to bust just bust in. But he couldn’t stand imagining who those sounds belong to, that scream, the cries...

The decision was taken from them, though, when the door swung open. There stood a big man in a ridiculous pink, wife beater tank top and a patch over one eye.

Clay moved without hesitation, snatching the front of Pink’s shirt and swinging him out of the way. He slammed him face first into the wall opposite the door, where Clay delivered a sharp blow to the man’s kidneys.

Roque left his boss to take care of Pink, knowing there was little a motivated Franklin Clay could not handle. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust from the bright lights of the hall to the shadows of the big room he stepped into. He made out the back of the water canon first. It took a moment longer for him to make out big form in white directing the second canon. And then he was able to see the dangling form trapped between the two sprays.

Rage filled the big man of the Losers like nothing had ever before. Each big hand grasped the handle of giant Bowie knives and he surged forward like an act of nature. “I’m gonna rip your fuckin’ spleen out, you fuckin’ bastard!” he snarled.

White spun about at the voice and leaped back just in time to miss the swinging blade aimed for his middle. But the second one came down from the other direction, slicing down his shoulder. He stumbled back against the second water canon, tipping it over.

“What? Not diggin’ messin’ with someone that can fight back?” Roque continued to snarl as he closed in. “Prefer it when they’re just kids danglin’ on a hook, you sick fuck?”

Mr. White was quick to recover, rolling away from Roque’s kick. He curled back on himself then rocked forward, coming to his feet and launching himself at the Loser in one move. Taking Roque in a tackle, his head lowered, his arms outstretched, he grabbed at the knife wielding hands. He forced Roque back until they slammed into the wall with all the toys.

Roque grunted as something sharp poked into his back. He wrestled one hand free and bringing the blade down on the center of White’s back. 

With an answering grunt, White rose up, smashing the back of his head up against the bottom of Roque’s jaw, snapping the man’s head back against the display of hammers and mallets. He reached pass and snatched a mallet, raising it up to bring it down on his opponent. 

Roque shoved White away and raised an arm, deflecting the mallet.

“Roque?” 

“Busy guttin’ a fish. Be right with you.” Roque answered as he lunged after White.

White fell away from another knife swing. He took a swing with the mallet, but the knife in his back was slowing him down, making him sloppy.

And Roque had no sympathy. He pressed on, grabbing the mallet and twisting it out of White’s grip. He slammed the stolen weapon across the tortuer’s jaw, spinning him about. Then he rushed forward again with his remaining knife, slicing it across the back of White’s neck, cutting through skin, muscle, bone, and life.

Mr. White was dead before he hit the floor.

Roque gave the body a solid kick just for good measure, snarling “Fuckin’ asshole.”

0o0o0o0

Jenson tried to tune out the voices. It was harder now there wasn’t any water pounding into him. He didn’t dare look around for fear that the voices would appear like the last scene of Star Wars VI: ghosty Yoda and Anikin and Obi Wan and Colonel Clay and mean ass Roque...

He knew it wasn’t true, those voices. No one was coming for him. No one was going to save him. He was just hallucinating, dreaming. It was just hope rearing its ugly mug again.   
And, he had learned his lesson well: hope was a bitch with STDs! He didn’t want any part of hope. 

So, he closed his eyes as tight as he could and he tried to ignore the voices.

“Roque, stop playing around and help me get him down.”

“Jesus, boss, look at his feet!”

“Be easy with him. Don’t know how bad he’s hurt.”

“But his feet...”

“Later! We get him out! Then we patch him up.”

The hands were much harder to ignore.

They wrapped arms around his bare skin and lifted him up. His arms fell from the hook and he had to cry out as his dislocated shoulder swung at his side. 

“Easy! Take it easy!”

“There’s no easy way to do this, Roque. Set him down.”

He was sat on the cold floor and he shivered. Something warm and rough was wrapped around his shoulders. A warm, gentle hand cupped his face. 

“Jenson, you in there, kiddo?”

He started to twist away from the touch, but everything suddenly stopped. 

“J, come on, buddy...”

They used his name.  
They used his name.  
Not Beauty or Brilliant or Mine or Little Shit.  
They used his name.

When was the last time he had heard his name?

“Jenson.” he choked.

There was a long silence.

“Yea... that would be you.”

“And this would be you getting carried out of here. Just hold on, kid. We’re taking you home.”

But Jenson shook his head, squeezing his eyes close even tight. 

Fucking hope!

0o0o0o0

Clay tightened his coat around Jenson, securing his arms so his wounded shoulder wouldn’t bounce as they carried him out. Roque had used his own coat to wrap around his feet, doing his best not to take too much of a look at them.

Blood.  
A lot of blood!

That’s all he knew, that was all he wanted to know.

Then came Pouch’s voice over their comn: “Guys, we’ve got a couple Technicals headed for the front gate. At best: security is making their rounds. At worse: we got a Quick Reaction Team coming our way.”

“Time to move.” Clay ordered. “You got him?” 

Roque lifted Jenson like a small child, cradling him against his chest. “Kid’s too light. They even bother to feed him?” he growled.

Clay nodded to the chair in the corner. “Guessing that’s what that was for. Seen one of them used in Guantanamo Bay. Not pretty.... Roque, stop kicking the dead guy!” he snapped.

Jenson whimpered at the movement. He was obviously in a lot of pain. They needed to get him out and out now! if they got stuck in a fight with Jenson in their arms they would lose.

Still, as they stepped back out into the hall, Roque looked down the hall at a fourth opening. It hadn’t been there before, a hidden door at the far end. And, even more noateble, no body. 

“Where’d the pink dude go?” Roque growled.The kid in his arms winced at his words, and the big man took a moment to whisper to him “I gotcha, buddy.”

Clay shook his head agerily, pissed off at himself for not making sure his guy had actually been dead and not just beaten into playing possum. He had been a rush to get in and help his men. It had made him careless. “Fuck.” he growled, but then he was directing Roque back the way they had came. “Let Grey worry about it. We get Jenson out! Now!”

Cougar was already on the ground when they reached the doors of the barn. He had his sites trained on the front gate around the side of the building, but, when he saw Roque, all concentration was gone. “Mi hermano!”

“Cover!” Clay snapped, hurrying out ahead and taking up position to cover his men.

Their stolen van had moved a little further down the street, keeping the herd of sheep and the building between them and the Technicals. The new comers seemed to be taking their time getting through the gate, a good indication that they were simply bored security and not an actual QRT. No alarm seemed to have been risen, even from the man in pink, where ever he had crawled off to.

“Pouch, make me a hole!” Roque ordered over the comn as he hurried with his bundle across the dark field. 

Pouch was already at the side door of the van, cutting away the fence. He stood aside in open mouth horror when he saw what Roque carried.

“In the front, Roque. Spot for Pouch.” Clay ordered as he followed. He stood aside, actually counting heads as everyone loaded up quickly and near silently. As he climbed into the van there was a shout somewhere from the other side of the property. 

Pouch was already moving before the van doors had been completely closed. He drove smoothly and unhurriedly through the neighborhood streets until he found a main fairway with plenty of traffic they could blend in with.

Cougar moved quickly, his entire focus on the task at hand. He tucked Jenson up on the bench along one wall, laying him out and running his hands over his best friend’s body, feeling for breaks and injuries. When he got to Jenson’s shoulder his already profound frown deepened. He looked up at Clay. “Need to fix this.” he told him, grabbing Jenson by the arm.

Clay took a deep breath and nodded. He’d helped with enough dislocated this and thats to know this wasn’t going to be fun. Still, he scooted to the head of the bench so he could hold Jenson in still.

Cougar leaned close to Jenson’s face and whispered “Estate quieto, mi hermano.” knowing that Jenson would know his words. Then, with violent jerk and twist he popped the shoulder back in place.

Jenson cried out with sickening pop, fighting Clay for just a breath, before collapsing back, going limp. 

“Sorry.” Cougar breathed, folding the arm across his chest and pulling the coat closed over him again. He continued his check for injuries. he would pause every few breaths to lay the back of his hand across Jenson’s forehead or cheak, as if checking for a temperature, though, Clay suspected, it was more about reassuring himself that his best fried was truly back with them. 

For his part, Jenson laid very still, his face turned toward the wall of the van, his eyes still closed, but fluttering as if only pretending to be unconscious. After his shoulder, he didn’t react to Cougar’s touch, even when they came close to being very personal. After all, the kid wasn’t wearing a lick of clothing, besides Clay’s coat, and he was hurt everywhere!

Clay knew he was conscious, but holding on only be a thread. And he wasn’t too sure Jenson really understood what was happening to him. The further they got from the danger of the rescue, the more he was able to focus of Jenson’s condition. The very fact that he wasn’t responding to Cougar... COUGAR of all people... scared Clay.   
Just how much of their Jenson did they really get back?  
Did he lose hope?  
Did he think this was just a dream?  
Or a trick?  
What the fuck did those bastards do to his kid?

Cougar hesitated at Jenson’s feet.

Clay glanced sharply at his sniper.

For a breath, just a flicker, the dead pan eyes flashed with fear. But Cougar stowed it with the next breath. His back stiff, he carefully unfolded the bloody coat from around Jenson’s feet.

“Shit.” the sniper cursed, a very un-Cougar thing to say. He looked up at Clay. “Colonel... hospital! Now!”

Clay felt his heart drop. If Cougar was willing to hand his boy offer to doctors... just how bad... He slid down to the end of the bench to see the damage for himself.

Three toes were missing, two from one foot, one from the other. The first two had been stitched up, showed some signs of age. The last was fresh, very fresh.

Clay could hear the scream they had heard from the hall again.

Patches of the soles of his feet had been skinned, leaving a bloody mess. Tiny cuts covered his legs, too many to count. A blender leaped to Clay’s mind, a thought he quickly pushed away.

Cougar reached out to lay a hand on Jenson’s leg, doing what little he could to comfort him.

The response was instant and violent. With a cry, Jenson was suddenly kicking and scrambling...

Cougar fell back, a bloody footprint in the middle of his chest.

“Shit!” Clay hissed as he jumped back to Jenson’s head, just in time to miss a blindly swung fist. “Jenson!” he yelled, snatching at his wrists.

The iron shackles pinched his skin and he could imagine how they must feel to Jenson. He pinned the hands down above Jenson’s head, not taking the time to worry about his shoulder. 

But Jenson was in a full panic. He twisted his head so far about Clay could hear his neck pop. Feet kicking, fingers grasping, biting on down on his lip until it bled, back arching, bucking against the hold on him. Sheer, mindless panic was giving him enough strength, despite his injuries, that he was beginning to pull free.

“Damnit! Jake! Calm down!” Clay snapped at him. “You’re gonna hurt yourself!”

Jenson’s only response was to struggle, trying to escape the pain.

Cougar was back, laying across his friend’s kicking legs, as gently as possible without hurting him more. “Por favor, hermano.... brother...” he pleaded.

Clay abandoned his grip on the kid’s wrists and caught Jenson’s face between his hands. “Jake! Jake, stop this! Come on, kid, look at me!”

Jenson clawed as Clay’s arms, desperate to pull free.

Clay tried again to calm him, trying to sooth him with a softer tone “It’s alright, Jake. You’re alright. We got you. You’re safe.”

Fingers dug into his arms, drawing blood, fighting to be free. Jenson wasn’t listening. He was just too lost, too hurt, too damaged...

Clay ground his teeth, his own desperation bubbling to the surface. “Goddamnit, Corporal, open your fucking eyes!” he snapped.

The body beneath him suddenly went still.

Ignoring the warning snarl from Cougar, Clay called on his best command tone “I order you, Corporal Jenson! Open your eyes!”

Jenson’s eyes fluttered as if arguing with himself. But then his jaw stiffened and his body went taunt.

Clay almost smiled. If the kid had been standing he would have been at attention. He let his tone soften, knowing he was finally being heard, but not enough to lose all command. “Corporal, open you eyes.”

Jenson forced his eyes open. Bright, glistening blue eyes, shiny with panic still not quite yet pushed down. They twitched this way and that, searching. When they found Clay, he blinked, then blinked again as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. Finally, he half whispered half croaked “Colonel?”

Clay smiled, relaxing. “There you are.” he breathed in relief, moving his hands from his kid’s face to his shoulders. He looked back at Cougar. giving him a nod. He could let him go.

But the hands were back again, this time clinging to his arms.

Clay turned back to see Jenson curling up around his arm, burying his face in his side. He didn’t need to see the shaking shoulders to know Jenson was crying.

Colonel Clay wasn’t a father figure. There was nothing naturally gentle or cuddly about him. But, at that moment, all he wanted was to hang onto that kid and never let him go! He pulled Jenson close, assuring him softly “I got you, kiddo. I got you.”

0o0o0o0o0o0


	13. Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

o0o0o0o0o0o

Mr. Blond stood quietly, watching from among the crowd of onlookers, as the invading horde of American soldiers ran over his personal training house like they owned it. 

The sheep had been herded off into a far corner where they were being loaded up on trucks, destined to who knows where. His display room had been gutted, turned out onto the field for inspection and categorizing. Same with the furnishings beyond: water canons, crates of training devices, Mr. White bundled up in a nondescript body bag...

The Americans calling themselves the DOD had swarmed the property at dawn, floating down from helicopters, driving through the fence in ATVs. There had been no resistance. In fact there had been no people at all. After Mr. Pink had sent out the call, the property had been evacuated, everything of importance taken or destroyed. 

Luckily there had only been one work-in-progress at the time and he had already been removed. Moving the staff and network to the Beta location had been simple enough. And, though it irked him to lose the property, that was the nature of the business. Even the loss of Mr. White was not as much bother as spilled milk.

What did leave Mr. Blond terribly displeased was the loss of the aforementioned work-in-progress: his beautiful, brilliant boy.

That was not to be!  
That he could not allow to go unchecked!

He would have his prize back! And he would have his saviors killed right in front of his eyes this time! He would have that boy broken even if it meant he’d be no good to anyone but himself!

Mr. Blond spun about and stomped back through the crowd, not bothering to see if Mr. Pink and the Doctor had fallen behind him as were their place. 

0o0o0o0

Dr. Fairway, himself, had been in the United States Army way back when. In fact, it had been an old Army buddy who had directed them to his little hospital in an out laying town in Egypt. In a way, he had been excited waiting for them to arrive. It was the reason he had come out this way after the Army. Well, actually it was to find his niece who had vanished. He found her, but it had been too late. Only twenty years old and she was found dead with a dozen other girls from around the world when Interpol had raided a human auction. But he stayed to help others, those that, unlike his niece, had a chance to escape, to make it back to a free world. 

Still, when they had shown up day before yesterday, four heavily armed and very angry men with a badly wounded baby brother, he had not been prepared for the disruption to his life, even if only for a few days.

He had not left the hospital since their arrival. He didn’t dare!

The sniper hadn’t left Jenson’s side since they had got him back, which had caused more than one confrontation with the hospital staff over the last day and half. Fairway had made sure to find Jenson a private room big enough to put up the other four for awhile. The huge, permanently angry Captain looked like he just might snatch and eat babies whole just for crying a little. The younger, black man did a lot of pacing and trying to fix things. He did fix the AC in the staff lounge, which, officially, made him the favorite of the staff.

Colonel Clay had needed no introduction to. He had never met the man during his army days, but his reputation proceeded him. This was not a man sane men wanted to upset.

Thus Dr. Fairway and his trusted Nurse Sarah were the only ones allowed to work on their baby brother. And, in truth, the injuries had initially looked worse than they actually were. But the boy had been in such a mental state when they brought him in, that Fairway had to sedate him. He didn’t like doing that. Sedating a man in such an emotional turmoil only prolonged the anguish. But, he was a doctor. Body first, then the mind and spirit.

But time was up. In a very bad way if Fairway was any sort of judge of such things.

Cougar and Pouch were watching Jenson as the doctor left the room to speak with Clay and Roque just outside. “How is he?” Clay asked even though he was reading the chart for himself.

“He will mend.” Fairway assured, but quickly added “Slowly and if taken care of. He does have some mild infections, but some antibiotics and regular bandage changing should clear that up. I’ve taken him off the IV and sedatives, so he should be waking up in short order and ready to move...”

“Move?” Roque frowned, an expression that made an already scary man down right terrifying. “You kickin’ us out, doc?”

Dr. Fairway kept his eyes on Clay, hoping it would be enough to keep his voice steady. “There have been... inquires about your man down stairs.”

Clay stiffened. “Who?”

“One I know as a local information hound who is best known for his slave trade connections.”

“Blond!” Roque snarled.

But Clay knew the doctor wasn’t finished. “Who else?”

This time Fairway frowned. “An American. A Captain Grey and thugs.”

The Colonel offered him a half smirk. “Didn’t like him, huh?”

“I didn’t like that black hat sort when I was in uniform. Like them even less out of it. The whole ends justify the means crap and damn how many good men the drop along the ways!” Fairway stopped before he was actually snarling himself. He shook his head and gave a tired sigh. “I’ve distracted them for a time, but there’s only so many places you could have gone for medical help around here. They will be back. And if either of them decide to push the issue...” He looked at Clay with imploring eyes. “I am sorry, but I have a hospital filled with helpless innocence. Oh, I’d sure stand in their way and do a whole hell of a lot of shouting, but I have to protect my people.”

“So, yea, you’re kicking us out.” Roque concluded, though some of the growl was gone. Damn him if he didn’t understand. Firefights were a bad thing to begin with. Start one in a hospital? There was a fucking maternity ward down the hall for crying out loud! He knew! The damn little scrawlers kept him up all night!

“We have to go.” Clay agreed. He turned and looked through the window at his wounded man. Just as tired, if not more so, than any of them, the Colonel was left wondering what he was going to do now.

“I wasn’t, exactly. planning on kicking you out into the cold.” Fairway offered. When Clay looked at him again, he held out a slip of paper. “This is the address of a safe house in Cairo. It has emergency medical supplies and I’ll give you some prescriptions you can have filled down the street at the mall. There’s also an open market nearby, so you won’t have to go far for food and so forth. Sarah has offered her van as long as you promise to make sure she gets it back before the new school season starts and she has to bus kids around. I go up there every couple of weeks for supplies and just to poke around the city. I can check in on your boy then.”

Clay just stared at him. But Roque actually chuckled, before asking “What does a good doc like you have a safe house for?”

Fairway shrugged. “Doesn’t do to be a friend to those in need if you’re not prepared.”

This time Clay chuckled. “It’s good to have friends like you, Doctor.” Then he glanced at the room again. “How long do we have?”

“I wouldn’t expect a return until morning. Jenson should be coming around any time.” Again Fairway frowned. “It won’t be easy taking care of him, you know? There are a multitude of injuries, mostly minor, a few not so.”

“Saw his feet.” Roque snarled, quick to anger over the matter. 

“There are his feet. Though they will heal, it will be a painful process. The first two toes were taken at the knuckle, but the third was cut through the bone, exposing a lot of nerves that are not going to be a whole lot of fun even after the stump heals. It shouldn’t interfere with his military career, but it is something that he will need to be aware of. I’ve already talked to your medic about how to care for the bandages and whatnot.” He paused, considering the next issue that he had avoided thus far. On one hand it was a very private doctor/patient sort of thing. On the other hand, these men were as much family as anyone could be and they were the ones who would be taking care of Jenson. So, the doctor continued. “The abrasions to his throat will make talking and swallowing uncomfortable, but no more than a sore throat from the common cold. Between that and his very empty stomach, I suggest soft, bland foods for awhile. That will also help the healing of the abrasions to his anal cavity...”

“His what?!” Roque suddenly surged, but Clay’s upraised hand stopped him.

In a very quiet voice that was actually scarier than Roque’s rampaging, the Colonel asked “Was he raped?”

Fairway cleared his throat. “At this time... no. Sodomized, yes, but, considering the condition of his throat and digestive system, I... suspect force feeding and enemas... poor man’s purging.”

“What’s all this ‘at this time’ and ‘suspect’ crap?” Roque demanded.

The doctor took a deep breath. “Without actually talking to him, I can only speculate on the evidence I have. There was no semen present and his digestive system has been flushed clean. Thus being malnourished.” Again he paused. “You can assume eating will be a touchy topic with him. Along with doing things for himself.”

“Like?” Clay pushed.

“Like...” Fairway shrugged, “everything! You’re going to have to take care of him, but also find ways to give him control back. Maybe even make him take control. Do a whole lot of asking before doing.” His eyes narrowed with his own anger on the issue. “Whoever was trying to brake him took complete control of him, right down to his bodily functions. It would have been difficult to find better way to dehumanize someone than a force purge. And, seeing how he was when you first came in, I’d say they were damn close to breaking him.”

“But you don’t think they did.” Clay observed. “Breaking him, I mean.”

Fairway thought a moment, then shook his head. “The way he fought us, fought you, when we first touched him... there’s still fight in that boy! He might have given up on rescue, but he sure as hell hadn’t given in.”

“Damn straight!” Roque nearly crowed with pride. 

Colonel Clay smiled too, repeating softly “Damn straight.”

0o0o0o0

He listened to the muffled voices for a long time. They were whispered voices, soft and, often, teasing. Good humor punctuated with soft chuckles and hisses. Even though he could only make out a word here and there, the hum of the friendly voices left him feeling warm and... well, safe... like he was home.

Every now and again the voices would die away and someone would touch him. It was a far off feeling that made him go still, every bit of his being stiffening as if waiting for pain. But the pain didn’t come. The touch would fade and the voices would resume and he’d be safe again.

He was afraid to open his eyes for fear that the voices weren’t really there, that it had all been a dream, some devastating trick of hope, another torture aimed at breaking his very sense of reality. He didn’t want to open his eyes and come to terms with reality. He didn’t want to admit that he was still alone, cold, and, worse of all, broken.

But the voices purred away all sense of reality, luring him with their dream like song. 

He finally dared to open his eyes.

A discovery of a pair of dark eyes watching him closely brought the dream to life.

Jenson smiled ever so slightly. “Hey, kitty-cat.” he tried to say, though it came out as barely a whisper.

But it had been enough for the those dark eyes to go big and a cocky smirk bless that face. “Buenos dias, bella durmiente.” Cougar purred. He leaned forward in his chair at bedside to run a hand through Jenson’s hair. “¿Cómo estás?”

Jenson closed his eyes again, feeling that touch like the hand of an angel wiping away that wicked reality of pain and loneliness and horror. How could the touch of a dream be soft and warm and comforting? 

“Mi Hermano?” came the questioning voice, deep with concern.

Jenson opened his eyes again. “You came for me.” he finally concluded, unable to resist hope any longer.

Again Cougar smirked. “Si. Siempre.” he answered softly. Then he looked over his shoulder. “Pouch!”

Pouch appeared at his bed side. He was little more than a blear, but it was a blear Jenson would have recognized from anywhere. “Well, would you look at that? Baby Face Jenson, awake and breathing.” He, in turn, shouted over his shoulder “Clay! Roque! He’s awake!”

The shout hit Jenson hard, making him flinch, turning his head away and snapping his eyes close.

A hiss from Cougar chided Pouch, who, seeing his reaction, quickly dropped back down to those quiet, soft voices to reassure “Woe. Easy. Sorry, kid. It’s alright. I didn’t mean anything.”

Jenson started to reach up to rub the bridge of his nose, but the ache he hadn’t noticed before, suddenly snapped with pain through his shoulder. With a gasp, he let his arm drop back down.

“Estate quieto.” Cougar huffed, laying a hand on his chest and gently, yet firmly, held him in place. “You shoulder is hurt. Most of you is hurt.”

“What happened?” came the demanding voice of their Colonel.

“It’s okay.” Pouch quickly explained. “Just finding out what moves and what doesn’t... or shouldn’t... just yet, anyhow.”

Hesitantly, Jenson tried the other arm, raising it a little at a time, rolling his shoulder, twisting his hand. His wrist and shoulder were sore, but it didn’t really hurt. So he used that hand to rub at his eyes. The whole world seemed to be floating, as if... “Am... I high?” he mumbled.

Pouch chuckled. “Well, yea. Between pain killers and sedatives and whatever else... Yea, you are as high as fuck!”

“You’re alright.” Clay quickly countered, throwing Pouch a glare.

Jenson squeezed his eyes close, open them wide, and close again, rubbing at them. He didn’t like the way high as fuck felt. 

Cougar scooted his hand away so he could slip a pair of glasses on his face. It was almost natural act for him, preformed the many times his best friend had woken up with a hang over, or the few times he had been hurt. Cougar took care of Jenson. That was the way it was. Thus, he was not expecting the response. 

“Don’t!” Jenson hissed, snapping his head to one side, nearly poking his eye with the ear piece.

Cougar quickly retreated with a hushed “Lo siento.” and a look of confusion mingled with a little hurt crossing his face. He looked across the bed to his Colonel, looking for an answer.

Clay frowned. “Boys, now that he’s awake, maybe you all should give him a little space.” he suggested slowly, ignoring the sudden snarl from Cougar. “Get some food, get our gear. Get out from under foot...”

“No!” Jenson eyes snapped open. “No, no, no....” He was suddenly scrambling up, ignoring the pain that was suddenly everywhere. “Don’t go! Please...”

“Woe.” Clay was quick to intervene, holding his hands up, careful not to touch him, but getting in the way of Jenson leaving the bed. “Take it easy, Jenson. You’re gonna hurt yourself... worse!”

Cradling his wounded arm, Jenson look up at him with huge blue eyes just glistening with fear. “Please... I want you to stay... please stay... whatever you want... please...” he was pleading in a panicked whisper.

“Whatever?” Rouge repeated, taking a dangerous step back.”What do you mean WHATEVER? What WHATEVER did those bastards make you....”

“Roque!” Clay spun on him and snapped.

Roque snapped his mouth shut, though he was rocking with barely contained fury.

Clay took a breath to get his own under control, before turning back to find that Jenson had recoiled from the exchange and was now curled up against the headboard, eyes shut, fingers tugging at the sleeves of his hospital shirt like it was something he had never seen before. Every inch of the boy was shivering, something Clay was sure was feeling just great with all his bruises and cuts and....

He glanced at Jenson’s feet, heavily bandaged, yet still spotted where the blood had soaked through. They were tucked under his long, folded up legs, a position that was not productive to healing.

Like Clay, Cougar had leaped to help Jenson, but had stopped just short of actually touching him. Now the sniper glanced at Clay with a warning: back off!

Clay sighed and stepped back. If there was any of them who had some sort of experience in this it would have been Cougar. Sniper aside, he was also their medic and, before he joined the Losers, a survivor of capture and torture. Maybe, just maybe....

Cougar eased up on the bed only a foot away from Jenson. He spoke softly, his deep voice almost a purr “Jake, I’m gonna touch you. I will not hurt you. Si?” 

Jenson froze. He held his breath and waited.

Clay ground his teeth. Waited for someone to hurt him? Waited for... whatever?

Slowly, carefully, Cougar began to unfold Jenson’s gangling legs, taking his time laying them out until the boy was sitting with his back to the headboard. By then, Jenson had opened his eyes and was watching his friend. When done, Cougar looked up at him and smiled. “Ostrich.” he accused.

Jenson almost smiled back. It had been a long time tease between them: Cougar teasing him about his long legs always fumbling him up, and Jenson always teasing him about his hat...

He frowned. “I... I tried to get your hat back.” Jenson confessed.

Cougar sat back a bit. “Si? They took it?” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Que sorry?” Cougar responded. “No sorry. You did not take it. You tried to take it back for me. Gracias.”

“Jake.” Clay spoke up now that he was calm again. He ignored the glare from Cougar, though he did make a mental note that he and his sniper were gonna have to have a talk about that. He stepped up to the bed again and mimicked Cougar’s soft, docile manner. “We are not going to leave you. We are not going to hurt you. Do you understand that?”

Jenson actually gave him a “duh” expression like the panic five minutes ago never happened.

“Yea, sure, if I wanted to raise a teenager...” Clay responded with a growl of his own, but there was amusement behind his tone. “Look,” he sat on the edge of the bed, ignoring both Jenson’s flinch and Cougar’s growl, “we’ve got a place lined up we can lay low at for awhile. Bit more comfy and private than this joint. Wanna go?”

The kid eyed him suspiciously. After a moment, Jenson asked “He’s coming for me... isn’t he?” 

The Losers got real quiet then. Cougar even forgot to growl.

Colonel Clay considered his response carefully. He could lie to the kid, but he didn’t lie to his men. He could tell him the truth and risk another panic. Or, well, he could just smart mouth it and use a lot of cuss words as a distraction.

Roque saved him with his usual cuss-for-distraction method.“That fucking asshole isn’t getting within a grand fucking mile of you without my fucking boot up his ass so far I could pick his noes with my big toe!” 

For another moment all was quiet as they waited for Jenson to flinch or shy away. But, instead, the Corporal asked “Do me a favor? Don’t wash your feet until this is all over and done with.”

That earned him a round of chuckles, something that brightened him up like a little boy being handed a huge lollipop.

It broke the ice, so to speak. The truth then. “Jake, I won’t lie to you: he is looking for you.” Clay said when the chuckling had died down.

Instead of panic, Jenson did something else, something worse: he let his eyes drop, his expression fading into nothing, every inch of him looking resigned to fate, all hope lost.

It was a look Clay had seen before, when some kid in uniform laid bleeding out on the ground, using the last bit of his strength to dictate a letter to his girl back home, his final words.

The Colonel pushed on. “But the hunter has become the hunted.”

Jenson’s eyes came up, a frown appearing.

“Damn, Clay, that was corny.” Roque huffed.

Clay ignored him. “The DOD is hunting Blond’s ass. By looking for you, he’s exposing himself, and the DOD are gonna snatch him up quicker than all get out. All we have to do is get to the safe house, hunker down, and spend a few weeks watching TV, drinking beer, and being lazy.”

Pouch was a little too quick to offer “I can do lazy.”

“I can do beer.” Roque added.

But Jenson was still frowning. “Why not just get back to base? Be safe there, right?” When he got a lot of nothing for an answer, his eyes dropped again. “Unless... I’m the bait.”

Clay’s immediate “NO!” was drowned out by Pouch’s “Hell, no!” and Roue’s “Fuck, No!” and a snarl from Cougar. 

Again Jenson looked up and frowned. “It’d be smart... Mr. Blond... he doesn’t lose...”

“I SAID NO!” Clay snarled even meaner than Cougar. “I am not dangling you out there just to see what tares you to pieces! That is not happening...!” He snapped his teeth shut before he said “again.” He took a deep breath, counted to three, and let it out slowly.   
That was supposed to help, right?  
It didn’t!  
Still pissed off at the whole ordeal, Clay continued “And drop that Mister crap! He isn’t a Mr. Anything! He’s a punk in a pretty suit! A perv who steals kids from their families, tortures them, and sells them to the highest bidder for the biggest jollies! That bastard doesn’t deserve a Mister! AND HE SURE AS HELL DOESN’T DESERVE YOU!” He stopped, huffing for breath like he had just punched it out.

His men stood silent for another moment, this time looking at him instead of Jenson.

And, again, Jenson did the unexpected: “So... you thought his suit was pretty?”

Laughter bubbled out with a few teasing jabs at their commanding officer who had the good sense to respond with an embarrassed smirk and a playful comeback or two. 

When, again, the men had settled down, it was Roque who took up explaining, his own voice surprisingly calm and controlled: “We can’t go back to base just yet, kid, ‘cause dangling you is exactly what the DOD wants to do. And we’re not gonna let them.” He shook a big finger at Jenson. “So, you need to sit back and relax. Let us get done what needs to be done so we can skedaddle and get to that TV, beer, and lazy crap our glorious leader has so promised.”

“I can help...”

All four heads shook no, but Clay again picked up the explaining: “You’re still groggy.”

“High as fuck!” Pouch corrected.

Clay did his very best to ignore him, but, finally sent his Sargent a withering glare.

Pouch stepped behind Roque.

Clay turned back to Jenson. “The drive is gonna be several hours and probably rough and hot. I want you to stay and get what rest you can before we pull out. Maybe try to get some jello down... or something.” He looked at Cougar. “Hospitals always have some green jello around somewhere, don’t they?”

His sniper shrugged, though he looked at Jenson as if, if he said he wanted some, he’d hunt down the fabled green jello, shoot it himself, slap it in a bowl, and present it like a prize buck.

“So,” Roque interrupted the image, “we moving or what?”

Everyone again looked at Jenson.

The kid chewed on his lip, but, finally nodded. “I wanna get out of here.” he whispered, dropping his eyes again.

Clay almost roared at him to look up, to hold his head up, to be confident, to demand, to prance around and wonder at the silliness of the world like his old Jenson did.  
Damn, he missed that kid!  
Instead, he stood up and turned to Pouch and Roque. “Get the gear in the van. Water and essentials for the drive. You know what we need.” The two men were out the door before he had completed his turn to Cougar. “You, with me!”

Cougar started to growl in response, but Jenson, once more, surprised them: “I’m okay, Cougs. Quicker we get going... right?”

Both Clay and Cougar glanced down at him. The kid wasn’t at all convincing, but Clay would take what he could get.

He stepped back to the door and held it open for his sniper.

Cougar sighed. “I’ll be back.” he promised, then followed his Colonel.

No sooner had the door closed behind them, than Clay snatched Cougar by the back and shoved him into the next room and up against the wall.

Cougar was startled for half a breath, but then spun about with a snarl.

Clay slammed a finger in his direction. “That is enough of that, Sargent Alvarez!” he snapped the command, reminding the dangerous man before him that he was still Colonel Franklin Clay and still his commanding officer.

It worked. Cougar snapped upright, back flat against the wall, dark eyes narrowed, but forward. He was almost at attention.

Clay paced angrily in front of him. “You fucking well know that I am not going to hurt that kid! By the way: MY kid! You think growling at everything and anyone who makes him flinch is gonna solve anything? Gonna help him?” He waved a hand in the air. “How’s he supposed to feel at ease if you make everything out to be a threat?” He was keeping his voice at a careful level, aware the whole time that the topic of their discussion was just on the other side of the wall. “And how the fucking hell are any of us gonna help him if you won’t let us near him?” Finally he stopped his pacing and stepped right up into Cougar’s face, well aware that he was in some very dangerous territory. “You keep acting like a rabid dog, Sargent, and I’ll muzzle you! And don’t make the mistake of thinking I can’t! This is MY unit! Understood!” It wasn’t a question, and Clay didn’t wait for an answer. He stepped back to the door and looked back at his man, again, waiting for him.

Cougar’s jaw set, but his eyes were a little less narrow. Sure, he was angry, but he was thinking too. Clay knew he had been too angry to think beyond protecting his best friend. But, now, he was thinking about how he was effecting that same best friend.

Did he really want Jenson to be flinching at every little bump and squeak for the rest of his life?

The cold hearted sniper dropped his eyes.

Clay sighed. “Cougar.” he called to him, leaving the commanding officer behind, and taking up the softer tones of a friend. “Find Jake some jello. See if you can’t get something in his stomach before he has to settle for road munchies.”

Cougar responded with a sigh of his own. He pushed away from the wall and offered his Colonel a sloppy salute before passing by in search for the fabled green jello.

When Clay stepped out of the room he was surprised to see his own best friend waiting out there.

Roque raised an eyebrow. “Do I need to hide his rifle?” he wondered.

Clay shook his head. “I’m gonna go get those prescriptions. Meet back here when you’re ready.” Then he turned in the opposite direction and walked off, more in search of a private moment to get his head back on straight before hunting for Dr. Fairway.

0o0o0o0o0o0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I expressed a lot in the chapter, I hope.   
> But I had a lot I wanted to happen to set up for the next chapter.  
> Believe it or not, only a few more to go.  
> I hope I'm not boring anyone.


	14. Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

o0o0o0o0o0o

Jenson tugged on the sleeve of his hospital shirt. He felt weird in clothing again. 

Gee, how fucked up did one have to be to feel weird wearing clothes?

There were white bandages on each wrist, probably from the shackles. Every joint ached, but from far away, like there was cotton stuffed between the pain and his brain. His shoulder, on the other hand, was going from a dull ache to a throb and quickly developing into pain.

The high as fuck must be winding down.

And his feet! 

He refused to look at those. He didn’t want to see what he had loss, what he would never get back, how he was changed forever.

His stomach tumbled and bubbled, demanding to be filled, but he had no appetite, absolutely no desire for anything that resembled food. In fact, the idea of eating twisted painfully in his gut, like the fear monster attacking the hunger monster with a vengeance.

There was a soft knock at the door as it opened.

Jenson looked up almost excited to see one of his teammates again. He breath caught and his chest tightened when he saw someone else.

A man wearing a white lab coat over a black uniform and heavy, black combat boots. When he saw who occupied the room, he grunted back to two men flanking him and the three quickly stepped in, closing the door behind them. One quickly secured the door and closed the curtain while the first came to stand at the foot of the bed. He smiled a smile that instantly reminded Jenson of a predator, another Mr. Blond smile.

“Well, Corporal Jenson, it is good to see you up... if not quite bright eyed and bushy tailed.” he almost purred. His two men stepped up to either side of the bed.

Jenson scooted back against the head board. He fought down the panic, his mind screaming wordlessly, his heart thumping like mad. 

“Do you remember me?” the speaker asked.

Jenson searched his memory, before, suddenly he flinched, his hand crossing to grab his arm where the tracker had been cut out. It was only an angry, pink scar now. But he remembered the hurt from it being dug out with a damn steak knife!

The speaker smiled slightly. “Ah, there’s that famous brain at work.” He crossed his arms and leaned them on the foot rest. “I am Captain Grey of the Department of Defense. These are my associates.”

Jenson ground his teeth. He almost wanted to call out for Cougar or Clay or any of them! They couldn’t all be gone, out of reach! 

Grey must have seen his eyes flicker to the door and guessed who he was looking for. “Oh, the Losers? They’re gone. Passed them in the hall. They sure seemed eager to be out of here.” He tilted his head to one side. “I mean, you gotta admit, you caused them a great deal of grief. Been nothing but trouble to them from day one. You know it! Always having to be rescued, chattering away like a caffeinated chipmunk. Distracting as hell!” He shrugged. “It’s no wonder Colonel Clay volunteered you for the mission.”

Jenson’s head snapped about, his wide eyes staring at the man.

Grey straightened up. “You didn’t know? But who sent you to get that tracker injected? Who just let Mr. Blond walk away with you? Who just up and left you to me? To put you back into play?”

“Back...?” His chest was so tight he was gasping for breath. His fingers dug into the bed covers as his mind flashed through all the times he had been trouble for the Losers: bar fights, shoot outs, Radio Shack....  
And his shoulder hurt and his feet burned and his stomach flipped and flopped and he was so fucking tired...

“Yes.” Grey answered, his tone as casual as first date sex. “We’re gonna give you back to Mr. Blond so you can lead us right to his home sweet home.” He shrugged. “Finally be of some service to your country. You’ll help bring down one of the most sought after black market masters in modern history.”

“no.” It was such a little sound Jenson wasn’t even sure he had said it.

Grey frowned. “What was that?” he wondered.

“I said...” Jenson swallowed hard, burning his damaged throat all the way down to his gut, “NO!” He threw them each a glare. 

Grey sighed. “Well, I had hoped for better. Didn’t really expect better, but I had hoped. Nathaniel, if you will...”

The man on the right suddenly lunged forward, snatching a cuff around Jenson’s wrist.

Jenson’s reaction was immediate and completely out of control: he slammed back at the end of his new shackle, jerking and pulling and clawing at the steel bracelet like a cat on a leash. “No, no, no, nononono....” he hissed, his mind returning to that room and the shackles and the nightmare visits from Mr. Blond and the constant pain and fear and cold and loneliness and... and... and.... “NO!” he yelled, lunging at Nathaniel.

But the man was ready for the attack. In far better shape than Jenson, far healthier, a far more in control of himself, he simply jerked on the end of the leash.

Jenson was suddenly falling off the bed.

Nathaniel caught him, throwing him up against the wall, face first. Pulling on the leash, he pulled his captive’s arm behind and up his back. He used his own body to pin Jenson to the wall, so close he could hiss in his ear “So, did you break, boy-o? You know, we here Mr. Blond has a thing for pretty boys. Makes them give him something sweet before he considers them tamed. Did you give the old perv what he wanted? Did you pander your ass for a little comfort?” He blew in Jenson’s ear, his free had giving his ass a squeeze.

Jenson slammed his hand back so hard he felt Nathaniel’s nose burst on the back of his skull.

With a grunt, Nathaniel stumbled back, his hand cupping his bleeding nose. 

Not being held up by his attacker, Jenson’s full weight came down on his badly abused feet. Screaming pain raced up his legs from his feet, nearly buckling his knees. His head swam and he had to close his eyes against the sudden dizziness. 

But then someone else had his leash, jerking him around to face him.

“Don’t hurt him too bad, Cain. We can’t put him back in play unless he functions!” Grey commanded.

The other DOD thug came straight at Jenson, holding his leash off to one side with one hand, reaching for his throat with the other.

Jenson pushed down the pain and focused on what was right in front of him. Leaning back against the wall, he kicked out at the thug.

But, instead of landing a blow against him, Cain captured his foot. Nathaniel was back, reclaiming the end of cuffs and latching it to the metal bed frame. It freed Cain’s other hand so he could focus completely of their captive. His grin was almost insane as his thumbs dug into the bandage on the sole, drawing blood.

Jenson cried out, throwing his head back, blinded by the spike of pain.

“Why don’t you want to help bring Mr. Blond to justice?” Grey’s voice purred through the pain, every syllable thumping behind Jenson’s eyes. 

“Maybe he’s afraid of what he’ll tell us.” Nathaniel suggested. “That it? He break you, sweetheart? You turned you ass up and turned traitor on us?”

“Fuck you, shit head!” Jenson managed through clenched teeth.

Cain gave his thumb a vicious twist.

Again Jenson cried out, withering against the wall. He would have fallen if Nathaniel hadn’t had a hold on his shoulder.

“Corporal.” Grey started, actually trying to sound comforting, sympathetic, “life would be so much easier, so less painful, if you would just accept the fact that you are nothing more than a tool, a weapon. Colonel Clay, same as everyone else, used you, and, when the DOD had need, handed you over like just another wrench from the kit.” He held out his hands at the room. “I mean, after all, where is he now?”

Cain jabbed his thumb at a particularly bloody part of the bandage.

Jenson nearly choked on a sob, the world around him spinning down a dark hole.

“Easy, now, easy.” Grey intervened, putting a restraining hand on Cain’s shoulder. “After all, this is the man who’s gonna get back into play and get us Mr. Blond.”

Weakly, Jenson shook his head, but it was someone else who snarled “The hell he is!”

Grey spun away from Jenson to come face to face with Colonel Clay and his rock hard fist. The DOD Captain stumbled back, blinded by his own sudden pain from what was sure to be a fractured cheek bone.

“Get your fucking hands off of him!” roared Roque as he launched himself across the bed, taking Cain in a dive. He drove him into the floor when Cain froze. He was too afraid to even breath with the rather large knife pressed against his throat. 

Nathaniel spun around to take Clay as the Colonel closed in on his Captain, but Cougar dropped him with a left of his own. A solid kick to the head left the man completely disinterested in further battle.

Clay towered over Grey. “You fucking ingrate, coming after him! AFTER MY MAN! I should fucking rip your lungs out!”

“I was just doing my job!” Grey protested.

“Your job?!” Clay roared. “Since when does your job include torturing one of our own soldiers?” He glanced back to Jenson to make a point, but hesitated when he saw his man.

The kid was shaking as he leaned his head against the wall, one arm stretched out and cuffed to the bed. He was trying to balance on one foot, the other leaving bloody foot prints. He twisted his trapped arm, mumbling and cursing at the cuff, trying to jerk his hand free, taring the bandages.

“Cougar!” Roque directed before Clay could.

The sniper was already heading for their teammate. 

Clay returned his deadly glare to Grey. “Leave!” was the low, ground out command. 

Grey held up his hands as if to say he meant no harm. “Clay....”

“COLONEL Clay!” Roque snapped. “Only reason you and your flying monkeys ain’t flying out the window is his rank! ‘Course, if he says otherwise...”

“Colonel Clay, sir!” Grey quickly corrected. “You know we have to take Mr. Blond! You know he’s gonna go to all ends to get Jenson back. This is our chance! Our first real chance since he went into business! We need Jenson!”

“You’re not getting him!” Clay snapped. “You, Blond, the whole fucked up torture squad can go without! You do not get Jenson!”

“Sucks to go without, don’t it?!” Roque huffed. 

“Key!” Cougar’s voice broke through the growls and glares. He had managed to get Jenson to sit back on the bed, but he was struggling to get him to stop pulling at the cuffs.

Roque snatched Cain’s front, dragging him to his feet. “Key! Now!”

Cain looked over his shoulder to his own commanding officer. 

Grey raised his chin, fortified by his own ballsy sense of purpose. “No.” he answered. “He stays where he is!”

Roque’s blade pressed to Cain’s throat.

“Hurt him and you’ll be in Leavenworth for the rest of your days!” Captain Grey snapped. “Call off your dog, Colonel! Or I’ll call out mine. You know the DOD has enough pull that even General Morrison won’t be able to protect you.”

Clay took a menacing step towards the little Captain. “Blow your whistle! They won’t be here in time to save your scrawny ass!”

It was Dr. Fairway who broke the standoff. The doctor came bustling into the room like the man owned the joint. “That is quite enough! The two of you.... Roque put that knife away! I have no desire to spend a minute patching up any of these assholes, so don’t go there! You! Yes, you scrawny piece of work there! You black hat with such a hard on for evil doers you’re willing to fuck your way right up into their ranks yourself!”

Both Clay and Roque had to step back then. The kind doctor with the heart of gold was not the one who came busting into that room. It was the ground stomping, foul mouthed, boot strap drill Sargent from his Army days. When he said he’d do a whole hell of a lot of shouting, he wasn’t kidding!

“That boy is under my care!” Fairway continued. “So I don’t care what dogs of war you call on, what grander than holy fuck purpose you have... MY patient is not ready to leave MY care! And put it back in your pants, piss for brains! Under my roof, you don’t measure up, boy! If you wanna take him, than you sure as bloody hell better have a writ of authority from the correct authorities to take a wounded man from his doctor’s care! And, remember, jackass, you’re in Egypt, and folks around here like me a hell of a lot more than they like you!”

Captain Grey’s face twisted up to almost a painful expression. Grinding his teeth, he finnally relented, snapping his fingers at Cain and pointing at the still daze Nathaniel.

Cain quickly leaped to snatch up his partner and half lead half drag him out the door. 

Grey threw the doctor a glare, throwing a finger at Jenson. “Cuffs stay on and he stays there! Too hurt to leave with me, I’m sure he’s too hurt to leave with anyone else. I’ll be back with your fucking writ!” Then he stomped out the door.

Soon as they were gone, Fairway seemed to deflate.

Roque, though, was all bubbling with excitement. “Fuckin’ hell, doc, where were you when Bin Laden started waving his fist in the air?!”

“Doing my best to save the lives of the boys he was waving his fist over.” Fairway mumbled back, not at all happy with the memories drummed up. He quickly turned to Clay. “I’m sorry. Sarah was watching the front desk, but there was an accident, she was needed....”

Clay held up his hand. “You saved our butts, doc... again!” was his only answer as he moved passed both the doctor and the topic. He came to the foot of the bed so he could check on Jenson. “Cougar?”

The sniper started to growl, but clamped his mouth shut with a quick glance over his shoulder at him. He was holding Jenson still under one arm while he played with the cuff.

“Got it.” Clay quickly saw the problem and moved up to help. As much as he hated to do it, he moved up beside Jenson and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, holding him still so Cougar could use both hands.

Jenson’s reaction was expected: twisting and struggling, pulling with everything he had against the new shackle. 

“Calm down, Jake.” Clay grunted when he got an elbow to the ribs. “We’re cutting you loose. Hold still for just a moment...”

“Si, bueno!” Cougar practically cried in triumph, tossing the cuffs over his shoulder, and turning back to his best friend. 

Jenson used his newly freed hand to push Clay away almost violently and scramble away from him.

Clay held his hands up and out, showing he meant no harm. He almost felt stupid when he realized it was the same position Grey had given him only minutes earlier. “Easy, Jake. It’s okay. They’re gone. We gotcha.” he tried to sooth.

But there was anger in Jenson’s blue eyes as he glared at his Colonel. “Did you know?” he hissed.

Clay blinked. “Know? Know what? That they were here?” He started to shake his head, but stopped when he saw Jenson rubbing that scar on his arm. “The tracker?”

Jenson’s set jaw and hard glare was answer enough.

The Colonel sighed. He hadn’t told the rest of the team yet about the DOD’s first request, of how long this had been in the planning, how betrayed they really had been. Looked like Grey hadn’t been that hesitant. “Jake...”

“DID YOU KNOW?!” There were tears at the corners of those blue eyes, and Clay wasn’t sure if it was from pain of the attack or the thought of betrayal.

“They came to me, the DOD.” he started.

Roque stepped forward with a snarled “What?”

Clay kept his focus on Jenson. “I told them no. I said there was no way in hell I was gonna sign any of my men over to them.” He shook his head, dropping his eyes with guilt. “I should have known they wouldn’t take no for an answer. I knew they did things their own way, and damn anyone who got in their way. I just thought... I didn’t think they would do... this!”

Jenson’s eyes searched him, desperate to know, desperate not to know. “But... but you sent me to the infirmary...?” he all but whispered.

“Because you had been sick!” Clay quickly countered, though he kept his eyes down. “I was told you wouldn’t be allowed back in the field unless you got one more dose of antibiotics. I didn’t know Grey had implanted a tracker until after... after Blond had taken you.” Then he looked up. “You have got to know that I would have dragged that fucking helicopter out of the sky if I could have only reached it! I’d burn the world to its core if it would have saved you!” He glanced back at Roque then Cougar then back to Jenson. “You’re my boys, my team, my men! If I could have, I would have taken your place in a heartbeat!”

Jenson watched him another breath, then another, then slowly relaxed against the headboard. “I know, boss.” he whispered. “I know.” He laid his head back and closed his eyes. “I know.” He didn’t react as Cougar began to unwrap the torn bandage from his wrist and Fairway started on his foot. Absolutely no reaction when Pouch entered in a huff, wanting to know what he’d missed, and then where could he go to kill someone. 

It wasn’t until Fairway returned to the room with a wheelchair, declaring “They’ll be back soon.” that he opened his eyes again.

Roque and Pouch had already grabbed the few bags from the room and were already gone, pulling the van around to the back doors.

Clay nodded. He offered a hand out to Jenson to help him into the chair.

“I can walk.” Jenson protested.

“No, you can’t!” Dr. Fairway was quick to respond. “You need to stay off those feet for at least a week. No walking, running, leaping...”

“Kicking.” Cougar added with a smirk as he took over the handles of the wheelchair.

“Kicking.” the doctor added. “Standing for a a few to get into the chair or take care of bussiness, okay. But I’d prefer you had help even then. Your feet need to be up.”

“Sounds like fun.” Jenson grumbled, not at all looking like he thought it would be in the least bit fun.

After helping Jenson in the chair and seeing Cougar down the hall with their ward, Clay turned back to the doctor. “Are you going to be in trouble? I mean when Grey gets back with his writ?”

“Writ? Man, this is Egypt! He doesn’t need a writ to drag a man out of his sick bed and shoot him in the head!” Fairway chided him. Then he shrugged. “’Sides, you three beat the hell out of the big, mean DOD. What’s an old country doctor like me supposed to do against such brutes like yourself?”

Clay chuckled. “Something tells me, if we ever tried to take you on, we’d be the ones at the short end of the stick.” He offered his hand. “Thanks for everything, Dr. Fairway.”

Fairway took the hand, but he held on tight to to tell the man “I suppose most people would say they don’t envy you the task you set out on, bringing that boy back to one piece. But I do envy you. What I would have done to have had that opportunity with my niece... Don’t screw this up, Franklin!” Then he smiled and backed into the now empty room.

Clay nodded to the door, a silent promise not to screw this up. Then he was off.

0o0o0o0o0o0


	15. Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

o0o0o0o0o0o

He could feel the hand lightly run down his spine...   
fingers tickling their way over his hip...   
massaging deep into his thighs...  
slipping between his knees...  
hot breath on the back of his neck...  
“How about we release some of that preasure, my beautiful brilliance...”

Jenson jerked up with a sharp intake of breath, eyes snapping open. 

For a breathless moment, he was lost somewhere between the dream and the now.

But then the van hit a bump and the rumble of the engine and the heat all around him made it through his muddled brain. He gulped a lungful of air and dropped his head back to the arm of the seat he was stretched out on.

“Hey.”

He blinked up at a water bottle and a a couple of pills in an out stretched hand. “What’s those?” he asked, his voice husky from the dream. He licked his lips and grabbed the back of the seat with his good arm, pulling himself up into a sitting position.

Roque glanced down at his offering. “Well, this is a bottle of water. You drink it. And these are pain killers. You swallow them.”

Jenson breathed in and out, in and out. He glanced out the windows at the rolling desert landscape around them. The air was hot and dusty and the light far too bright for eyes that had spent so much of the last few weeks in the Shower Room. The seat was lumpy and the van rocked, rolling his already upset stomach. He tugged on the strap that tied his wounded arm down to his side where it rubbed the sweat soaked fabric of his shirt against far too sensitive skin. Everything was just so damn uncomfortable. Well, he could say everything hurt, but he remembered what pain, real pain, felt like, and this... this was just uncomfortable in comparison. 

“You should try some water. Been so damn hot, we’re downing these things shots at a Spring Break frat party.” Roque held the bottle out a little further.

Jenson ignored the offering, choosing, instead, to just lay his head on the back of the seat and gaze off at nothing.

Roque frowned. He wasn’t good at all this ‘how ya feeling’ crap. If it bugged him, he’d stab it. If it bugged one of his boys, he’d stab it. If it bugged anyone else, he’d stab it. Pretty much his answer foe any problem was to stab it. That’s what he was good at: violence! But this problem... he just didn’t know what to do.

So, he sat there, holding out a bottle of water and a handful of pain killers, hoping the kid would take them before he jumped up and shoved them down his throat. Bets were that was not gonna help the matter. “you know... shouldn’t let yourself get dehydrated.” he tried again. 

Again, he was ignored.

Okay, something new. “So... what was the dream ‘bout?” he asked.

Jenson’s eyes snapped back to him. “Dream?”

Ha! A response! And he didn’t even have to stab anything! “Yea, that thing you were just whimpering through that sent you bolting to wakefulness that you can’t seem to muster for role call, forget a ‘good morning, sir.’” He shook the water bottle, hoping that he had made enough of a connection to get him to take a damn sip already!

For a moment, the Corporal looked pale as a ghost. Not that he had been all so colorful to begin with. But then he mumbled “Good morning, sir.” before laying back down and closing his eyes.

Roque curled his fingers around the painkillers as if holding onto them tight enough would hold his frustration in check. Then he spun about and made his way back to the front of the van.

Nurse Sarah’s van was actually a small bus with six rows of seats, the last one stretching across the whole of the back. It was that long back seat they had laid Jenson out on. Pouch, naturally, was driving, Cougar and Clay laid back in their own seats, napping here and there when they could. They had been on the road for nearly six hours, but hoped to be pulling into their safe house in just another hour. Every now and again, one of them would go back to check on Jenson, but had gotten about as far as Roque had with him. Jenson had even shut out Cougar.

Pouch glanced over his shoulder as he heard Roque approach. “Any luck?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

Roque grumbled under his breath as he tossed the bottle back in the cooler and returned the pills to their own container. 

“He has to drink something!” Pouch protested, tempted to pull over right then and there, and go back and give it a try himself. “If we have to shove a hose down his throat...” He stopped himself even before Roque’s glare hit him. “Yea, okay, I know. Stupid thing to say... to even think.... but, what are we gonna do if he doesn’t even drink any water? We’re not exactly in the sort of neighborhood where saying no to water is just a matter of taste.”

The Captain sighed as he dropped tiredly in the seat just behind the folding door. “I don’t know.” he admitted. “The doc gave us some IV solution, so, if we have to, we can get some fluids in him. But if he won’t sit still for an IV...” He shrugged.

“One step at a time.” came a muffled voice from where Colonel Clay was leaned back in his seat, eyes close, apparently sleeping... apparently not. “Get to the safe house. We’ll take on what’s next then.”

Pouch glanced at Roque again.

Roque shrugged again, repeating “One step at a time.”

They reached the safe house not quite an hour later, both Clay and Cougar sitting up for the drive through the city. 

Like any other city around the world, Cairo had its evening hustle and bustle: those leaving work after a long day, those heading out for a long night; neon lights and big screen advertisements hanging off the sides of a hopage of modern and centuries old buildings; car horns and loud music and market barkers and cell phone chimes and the general hum of several thousand voices all chattering away in their every day city lives. Even the great Pyramids that shadowed the city seemed just another part of the city-scape.

It had been a bit of a hassle maneuvering pass the shopping mall and down the narrow street to the address of on the paper. Then Clay hopped out and opened the big garage door and the drove the van right in and out of sight, securing the door after.

The safe house turned out to be a small warehouse remolded a few times. The bottom floor was a big garage with storage space and a locked up clinic that was opened only once every quarter or in declared emergencies. A freight elevator went up to the second story which looked more like a New York studio loft than anything expected when one thought of Egypt. It was all open, the only interior walls cornering off the bathroom. Big, glass french doors made on the front wall, but with no balcony. They simply opened up to a decorative metal railing and the view of the street below and the open market a few blocks over. The floors were a polished, dark wood, the walls a smooth, white plaster. In one corner was a modern kitchen with all its shiny comforts and a big, marble island/breakfast bar with a few bar stools. A polished redwood dining table seperated the kitchen area from the rest of the home. The entertainment area was just down the wall, between the kitchen and the french doors. A huge flat screen TV with all the entertainment marvels one could hope for, framed by a large, wooden book case, filled with all sorts of books, each with a well worn binding. A large sectional couch was spread about around it with coffee tables and footrests scattered about. The bedroom was the only carpeted square of the home, up in the back corner: a queen bed sitting on a large captain’s bed frame with tall, carved bed posts; matching redwood nightstands, dresser, and wardrobe, a smaller flat screen sat on the boxed foot of the bed so TV could be enjoyed even in bed. The bathroom was just as impressive as the rest of the home, with a large Jacuzzi tub, a multi head shower, and even the toilet had a heated seat.

“Humph. dem be poor folk.” Roque mumbled as he dropped the bags he was carrying on the floor and looked around. “I don’t know, Clay. Looks kinda rough.”

Clay smirked. “Think you can manage?” he wondered.

Pouch whistled. “Quick! Someone shoot me in the leg! Maybe we can get a little more time in this joint!”

Roque grabbed his pistol and cocked it.

“Hey!” Clay warned when Pouch squeaked, disappearing back into the elevator.

Roque shrugged. “Hey, it was his idea!”

Shaking his head, Clay told him “Go haul a couple of those clinic beds up here. Let’s get settled, grab some grub, and get a good night sleep. We’ll worry about everything else in the morning.”

“Clay.” Roque spoke quietly, stepping close to his friend. “Jenson has to drink something. He’s dehydrated.”

“I know. I got it.” Clay answered.

Cougar arrived upstairs a few moments later, pushing the wheelchair with a rather unhappy Jenson. No doubt Cougs had given him a choice: take a ride in the chair or over his shoulder. Either way, Jenson was not going to be doing any walking any time soon.

Clay had already talked it over with the sniper. They would give the kid what choices they could, but they were not going to let him slip away. 

Unlike the first two, neither Cougar nor Jenson seemed much impressed with their new digs. Not that either of them had ever seen anything so fancied up before, much less get to live in it for a month or so. They were simply otherwise distracted.

“Can I walk now?” Jenson pestered.

“No.” both Cougar and Clay answered as one. Clay pointed to the bedroom corner. “Big and comfy and all yours.”

Jenson frowned. He started to shake his head, but Cougar was already wheeling him over. “You don’t have to baby me.” he protested as his best friend actually took the time to turn down the big, fluffy covers and fluffed the pillows. Then his eyes caught Clay as the Colonel carried a coat rack over to the side of the bed. He eyed the thing suspiciously. 

Cougar offered his hand and helped Jenson to the bed. When he went to lift Jenson’s legs up, he got swatted for his efforts. 

Warning him away with a glare, Jenson pulled his own legs up, scooting back on the bed in an awkward, one armed way. Once his back was against the padded head rest, his eyes were drawn back to the coat rack which Clay was busy mounting an IV bag on. “What’s that for?” he almost growled, not wanting, in the least bit, another needle, much less another obstacle to being able to move around freely.

The Colonel didn’t even look at him as he explained “You’re dehydrated and have a fever. And you won’t drink anything. You’re obviously hurting, but you won’t take any pain killers. You haven’t actually eaten anything in close to days, but, I’m guessing, you’re gonna reject that too. You’re not giving us a whole hell of a lot of options here, kiddo.”

Jenson frowned. He looked to Cougar.

Cougar shrugged. “You have choices, mi hermanito.”

The frown turned to an angry snort. “I have choices as long as I choose what you want!” he accused.

Cougar opened his mouth to protest, but Clay cut him off. “Yes. When it comes to your health, damn straight!”

The boy bit his lip, eyes dropping, but darting left and right, as if searching without wanting to be seen searching. But he quickly released the lip. They were so parched that even that little pressure had drawn blood. He was shaking again and he didn’t know if it was because he was scared or sick. He understood what they were saying, even why they were saying it. He just didn’t want to get better!   
Why bother?  
How long before Mr. Blond found him again?  
Took him away, back to the Shower Room and some new horror, punishment for running away?  
There was no hope.  
Even sitting there in a fancied up flat, between two men who risked it all to rescue him, Jake Jenson knew he would never be saved. Never be safe. Mr. Blond would never stop coming for him. He would never be anything more than a weapon for sale to the highest bidder.

“Jake.” Clay spoke softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m giving you the choice.” He held out a bottle of water and two pretty little pills. 

Jenson’e eyes fluttered to the offered items. “I...” he started, but his voice died out. Carefully he ran the tip of his tongue over his parched lips. His throat did hurt, his head did pound, his skin did feel like it was stretched so tight over his bones that he would snap at any time. His stomach...

He wrapped his good arm around his middle as if he could hide how hallowed out he felt. 

“Take the water, Jake.” Clay encouraged.

With a half sigh, half groan, Jenson snatched the bottle away. It took him a to open the bottle and he was surprised that neither man offer to do it for him. Pleased they didn’t, particularly when the top finally spun off, but surprised. Mustering his best look of defiance, Jenson took a swig. He was about to glare up at Clay as if to say “There! Happy?”, but then he actually registered the water running down his throat, cooling and quenching and... not enough! He up ended the bottle and began to gulp.

Clay let him get half way before realizing he it was too much too fast. “Woe, kid, take it easy. You’re gonna drown yourself.” he chided, grabbing the bottle back with a splash of water. After a choked cough, Jenson blinked at him all innocent, and Clay had to snort a laugh. “Thought you weren’t thirsty.”

“Thought you wanted me to drink something.” Jenson challenged right back, anger flaring again.

The Colonel sat back, a bit off kilter by his man’s reactions. One moment he was all meek and kitten like, the next he was snapping and challenging; surrender then attack. Kid must have been driving his tormentors crazy: was he broken or was he unbreakable? 

Jenson started to reach for the bottle again, but winced when he turned on his bad shoulder. With a barely contained hiss, he leaned back against the head rest, his good hand twitching as if he was fighting the instinct to rub at the hurt.

Clay held out the pills again.

Jenson shook his head.

“Hermanito, estas sufriendo.” Cougar tried, but his friend shook his head again.

“You know what hurt is, Cougs.” Jenson looked straight at him, knowing damn well Cougar knew what torture was. “This ain’t it. This...” he waved a hand at himself, “this is broken. This is useless. This is helpless. This is can’t go take a piss without help. This is fucking pissed off and can’t do a fucking damn thing about it!” He shook his head one more time, ending with a glare at Clay. “And I won’t take those fucking pills that’ll make me a zonked out, witless wonder unable to even cuss out the next cromag that wants to take a goddamn knife or taser or fucking hose...” He clamped his mouth shut and looked away. He clenched his hands as if he could stop them from trembling. He squeezed his eyes closed, praying he could hold back the tears that were suddenly burning his eyes. 

Clay looked down at the pills in his hand. Working his jaw, he decided that he had to pick his battles here. So, he set the pills down on the night stand. “If you change your mind, they’re right here for you.” he said softly. Then he announced “I’m gonna make some scrambled eggs. Will you eat them?”

There was a long pause as Jenson considered which battles he wanted to fight. Then, without looking back, he gave the slightest nod.

“Good. Scrambled eggs it is!” Clay rose up, setting the half empty water bottle on the night stand. He gave Cougar a look, silently telling the man what he didn’t need to be told: Look after him. Then headed off to the kitchen.

They were powdered scrambled eggs, Army issued. But, with a little salt and pepper, ketchup for Roque, hot sauce for Cougar, they made a fine dinner. Instead of eating at the dining table or lounging in front of the entertainment system, the entire team seemed to settle on their cots, all pulled in around Jenson’s bed and watched some boob-tube on the bedroom TV. Mostly some Egyptian version of a talent show, which each man picked his favorite to cheer on.

Except Jenson. He sat quietly, poking at his eggs, nibbling here and there when he caught Clay watching him. He did drink another bottle of water and, if truth be told, was feeling a bit better for it. But as his stomach settled, his shoulder throbbed and his feet burned. He sat very still at times, with his eyes closed tightly against the pain. Someone would call to him, and he would snap back to the moment, offer a weak imitation of a smile, and take another nibble, though his hands shook.

Clay called lights out around ten and he’d never seen a bunch of men so ready to hit the sack. Even Jenson, with a little hated help from Cougar, shuffled down into a laying position with a relieved sigh. Though exhausted, the Losers didn’t forget that they were men in hiding with a friend being hunted. Roque dragged his bed across the entrance to the elevator while Pouch took the door leading down to the stairs. Clay stayed near the big french doors and Cougar stayed with in reaching distance of Jenson. All four of them with a pistol at the ready tucked under their cot.

Only way someone was gonna take Jenson away from the Losers again was through a lot of dead bodies.

o0o0o0o

It was the lights out that did it.

He was alright for a little while, a couple of hours, maybe more. He kept his eyes close, mostly so the others wouldn’t pester him about sleeping. But then the world began to twist and turn. 

Though the loft was shrouded in darkness, light from the street flickered across the space, creating shadows among the strange furniture, floating across when a curtain blew with a slight breeze. The shuffling of men sleeping seemed to echo around the big room. 

The bandages around his wrists seemed to tighten, turn cold and hard.   
A tickle at the back of his neck where a kiss had been laid...  
The very sharp edge of a razor blade drawn feather light up the sole of his foot...  
The fingers playing along his bare hip...  
The click of ice cubes falling out on the floor...  
The hum against his jaw...  
The electric snap of a taser...  
The fingers wrapping around his cock...  
The hand tightening its grip around his ankle...

“Get off!” Jenson cried out, kicking desperately. Instantly his feet flared as if gasoline had been tossed on his already smoldering feet. He gave a gasp as his shoulders were pressed down. Everything sizzled and screamed and cried and pleaded....

“Mi hermanito, por favor... Jake, wake up!” 

He tried to turn his head away from the spraying water, trying to find some air...

“Jake! Come on, kiddo, breath!”

Fingers twirled little patterns on his bare shoulder...  
A steak knife dug through his arm...  
A tongue lapped a trail down his spine...  
Sheers were placed around his toe...

“No... I won’t break! I won’t! I won’t! I won’t! I...”

A hand caressed his face, fingers running through his hair. “Shhhh, we know. It’s alright, mi hermanito. You alright. shhhh....”

“Cougs?”

“Si, si. It’s your Cougar.” The gentle fingers rushed a little in response to his words, running through his hair. “Por favor, open your eyes. See me!”

Jenson dragged in a lung full of air through clenched teeth, choked on it, before rolling on his side and, finally, opening his eyes to gaze into the very worried face of Cougar.

“Allo.” Cougar offered with a nervous smile.

“I... I didn’t break.” Jenson whispered back as if, somehow for some reason, he needed to convince everyone. Even if he didn’t believe it entirely himself.

“Never thought you did, kiddo.” Clay answered from where he stood just behind Cougar. When the big blue eyes shifted to look up at him, he asked “What happened, Jake? What scared you so badly?”

Those big, blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but quickly snapped shut, hiding what was going on in that head of his. After a few shaky breaths, he opened his eyes again and Jenson said “Sorry... sorry, I didn’t mean to wake anyone. I... sorry.”

“Ah, shit, kid, sleep is highly overrated.” came a huffed answer from Roque’s cot somewhere in the dark.

Clay agreed, shaking his head and saying “We’ve got plenty of time to catch up on sleep later.”

“Si.” Cougar put in his two cents which, being only one word, seemed more like a half cent.

Jenson glanced from Cougar to Clay and back again as the two men hovered as if waiting for him, or anyone really, to tell them what to do next.   
But he didn’t know what to tell them!

“Back off a little, guys.” came a rescue from the dark, this time from Pouch. “He just went through hell. Give him a moment to settle.”

Both hoverers snapped off glares into the dark, but, alas, leaned back. Cougar and Clay exchanged looks that must have held some silent communications, because then Clay straightened up and, patting Cougar on the shoulder, told him “You need me, I won’t be far.” He retreated back into the dark of the loft, heading for his own cot.

When they were alone, Cougar turned his attention back to Jenson. “Mi hermanito...” he started, again reaching out to run his fingers through his hair.

“I’m okay.” Jenson whispered assurances.

But Cougar shook his head. “No, I wasn’t. Remember? Mi larga noche? I know...”

“You don’t know!” Jenson suddenly snapped.

Even though no one else had been making any noise, it seemed like everything hushed. Even the sound of four large men breathing was silenced as if they were all holding their breath.

Slowly, reluctantly, Cougar pulled his hand away. He started to lean away again. 

Just as suddenly as he snapped, Jenson panicked. 

He was leaving!  
He couldn’t leave!  
Please don’t leave!  
If he left the pain would return!  
He was only safe if Mr. Blond didn’t leave!

“Don’t... please...” Jenson whimpered.

Cougar hesitated. “You want me to stay?” 

Jenson’s body froze at the question, but his mind raced.

How could Cougar ask him that?  
How could Cougar want that?  
How could he want that?  
How could he?!  
But if it kept him safe...  
If the pain stayed away a little longer...  
If the memories stayed away a little longer...  
If the unending horrors ended for just a heartbeat longer...

He nodded ever so slightly, almost hoping Cougar wouldn’t see. 

Cougar leaned forward, reaching out again.

Jenson closed his eyes, looking away.

“Jake, open your eyes.” Cougar whispered.

Jenson shivered, but forced his eyes open.

Cougar reached passed him and turned on the bedside lamp. Their corner of the loft lit up. Then Cougar reached behind him and dragged his cot over next to the bed. “See? I right here. I go nowhere.” he assured.

Jenson watched with a mixture of relief and confusion as his best friend stretched out on his cot and reached up for the light again. “Can... can we leave the light on... for awhile?” he asked quickly when he saw what Cougar was reaching for again.

Cougar shrugged. He fell back on his cot and closed his eyes. “Right here.” he promised one more time.

Slowly, watchful for a trick. Jenson relaxed back into the bed. Everything still hurt and the nightmares were just behind his eye lids. But he was so tired and the light was on. And Cougar was right there. Then he closed his eyes and drifted away.

0o0o0o0o0


	16. Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

o0o0o0o0o

Captain Grey was fucking well pissed off.

And no one understood why!

After all, they had just crashed one hell of a big human trafficking ring. Took down an auction that bagged them a dozen sellers and more than a hundred buyers. Saved more than two hundred slaves from around the world and all walks of life, many destined for the sex trade, but many sold as weapons, and a few just as “get your Westerner torture doll here” (a favorite with the al Quida lot). More than a twenty of the saved were of American origins, two military, one of those a hacker.

And not a damn one of them could tell him shit about Mr. Blond!

All the commanding officers from the international strike on the auction sat around, having a celebratory drink and patting each other on the back. They would all return to their own commands and their own countries boasting of their great achievement, ignorant of their true failer. They had only cared for the wound and not the cause of the wound. Not one of them understood that all they had achieved was sending the real prey scurrying away into hiding. Again! 

And it fucking well pissed Captain Grey off!

He sat in his ATV outside Dr. Fairway’s little hospital, glaring at the building as if he could crack it open with just a look. 

Technically he wasn’t even supposed to be in Egypt. The locals made it very clear that they really liked Dr. Fairway, despite him being American. After all, he was a very rich American with a very generous attitude when it came to medical issues. Turned out when he said “My hospital” he really meant he owned the damn this!

But, fuck it all to hell, that old man knew where the Losers stole Jenson away to! And Jenson was Grey’s only link to Mr. Blond! And, Grey wanted Mr. Blond!

His man leaned up against the door. “That Nurse Hatchet he’s got watching the door is as about mean as a half starved, whooped pit bull standing over the last bone on the plate.” he whistled. “Near enough chased me and Nathaniel right out with a fucking broom if your can imagine!”

Grey grunted. He didn’t need to imagine. When the woman came at him with her broom, he threatened to shoot her. That old bitch told him to go ahead, the bullet would never make it pass all her fat and do nothing but really piss her off. After the display with the broom, Grey wasn’t quite ready to see her really pissed off.

“So, what you want us to do, Captain?” Cain asked.

The DOD man glared a moment longer at that hated hospital. “Get in.” he growled, reaching down to turn on the engine. “We get out of sight and we sit on Fairway. Jenson was in some bad shape. Sooner or later, the doc’s gonna want to check up on him. And, when he does, he’ll lead us right to our little honey pot.” 

0o0o0o0o0

For the first moment of awareness, he thought the world had been put right again: the bed was soft and warm; the hushed voices of his brothers in all but blood could be heard conversing; the scent of cinnamon french toast floated through the air; even the distant sound of traffic and just life in general.

But then the pain announced itself with such startling vengeance he couldn’t stop the whimper from escaping.

The voices fell silent.

Feeling their eyes, Jenson turned his face into the pillow, wishing he could just fade back into the shadows, curl up and hide.  
Hell, he couldn’t even curl up with his damn shoulder strapped in place!

“Hey, you awake, buddy?” 

That was Pouch.   
Why was Pouch here?  
Where was Cougar or, even, the Boss?  
Why wasn’t one of them here to leap to his so-called rescue again?  
Telling him how everything was going to be just fine and dandy, just take your pills, drink your water, be a good little boy and the whole world would turn to rainbows and lollipops!

In the mean time...

“J?” Pouch tried again.

Jenson finally looked in his general direction. He didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to see the reaction to the next great adventure in the wonderful life of Corporal Jake Jenson, Brilliant Beauty and Weapon Extraordinaire: “I got to pee.”

Pouch hesitated for a moment, then, suddenly “Oh! Oh, yea, sure... I got your chair... just a minute...”

The next twenty minutes was an awkward, embarrassing, agonizing misadventure with a constant accompaniment of Pouch’s “You okay?”, “Need help?”, “I gottch ya”, and, worse of all, “No prob, man.”

No prob, man...   
Like he’d just handed him a screwdriver, not help him stand in front of the toilet so he could piss!  
He wanted to yell at him that it was a problem!   
It was abso-fucking-lutely a fucked up, big fucking, fuck, fuck, fuck problem!

But, as Pouch rolled the chair to the corner and returned to the bed he had just helped Jenson back into, he was chattering away almost gleefully about his girl, Joleen. How wonderful and perfect life was with her in it, and how she wanted Jenson and his sister to come over for dinner next time they all made it to state side. Well, that was nothing new. Even left to their own on leave, the Losers still ended uo hanging out in each others’ back pockets: Cougar was teaching his sister how to shoot, Pouch played soccer with his niece, Roque growled his way through a killer Bar-b-que, Clay shared his potato salad recipe with Joleen... they were all family, they took care of each other.

So why was it so fucked up that they were taking care of him now?

“Hey, J, you listening, man?” Pouch called to him.

Jenson blinked and refocused on his friend.

Pouch had re-materialized sitting on the foot of the bed, his back against the foot post, a plate of french toast in his lap.

“What?” Jenson managed to croak. Damn, his throat hurt!

Pouch waved his fork at the plate that appeared out of nowhere on Jenson’s own lap. “You want some sugar? Gonna pick up some syrup later, but we got some brown sugar now.”

He looked down at the plate and the perfectly golden french toast with the perfect amount of cinnamon sprinkled on and the perfect amount of butter melting and dripping down the perfectly thick slices. “No.” he breathed in almost awe. “They’re perfect.”

Pouch smiled around a mouthful. “Thanks. Joleen’s been teaching me a thing or two in the kitchen.” Despite his happy go lucky attitude, Pouch was watching Jenson closely, searching for signs of... well, anything! Sitting at the foot of the bed, he was making a point of being close to Jenson’s feet, yet being very careful not to actually touch them or jostle the bed too much. He chattered on, trying to keep Jenson distracted enough that he wouldn’t notice habit and instinct kicking in... letting his guard down... opening up... eating!

For Jenson’s part, he kept spacing out, getting lost in his own head, and missing portions of the conversation.... if nearly completely one sided chattering could be considered a conversation.

It was taking a bite of that perfect french toast that snapped him about.

It was so good!  
Heavenly almost!  
And that was wrong!  
Nothing was good anymore!  
Everything was either pain or pauses between pain!  
Pauses, false hope, releasing of pressure, perfect french toast...

Jenson pushed the plate away.

Pouch hesitated. “Something wrong? Want some water?”

“No!” Jenson snapped. Again he looked everywhere but at Pouch. He could just imagine the look on his friend’s face: shock and hurt.... or was it disgust and pity?

But Pouch leaned forward, trying to put himself in his frame of view. “J, look, man, you know me. I’m not gonna push anything on you. I’m not gonna hurt you. And I’m not gonna fight with you. That’s not me. That’s not you and me! Remember?” He dipped his head, chasing Jenson’s line of sight. “We’re the sidekicks to the macho trio. You know them, right? Stabby, Shooty, and Shouty?”

Jenson huffed. “You call them that to their faces?” he wondered.

Pouch chuckled. “Not twice.” he admitted.

He looked right at him then and asked “So, who am I? Stubby?”

Pouch flinched, but he tried to hide it behind a quick retort: “I was thinking more like Smarty. Or Wise Assy.”

Jenson looked at him with a moment of relief and disappointment. He had been hoping to scare him off, but found he was thankful when he didn’t back off.

There’s that hope again, always screwing things up!

With a sigh, Jenson glanced around, spotting the other three Losers hunched over a coffee table in the living room area. “What are they doing?” he wanted to know.

Pouch followed his gaze. “Shopping list. Clay’s gonna get your prescriptions filled and gonna get some shopping done at the mall today. Doesn’t want us in sight too much for awhile, so getting most of it done now.” He slid off the bed and picked up their plates. “Any requests better put in for them now.”

Jenson frowned. He glanced down at himself still in hospital garb. “Clothes.” he mumbled.

His friend looked at him. “Yea, we got that on the list. We did pack you a change if you want...” He threw his thumb over his shoulder to where their bags were stacked against a wall.

The hacker hesitated at the idea of asking someone to help him get dress. Sooner or later, he knew it would have to happen. But, so soon after the bathroom episode? He shook his head once.

Pouch shrugged. Carrying their plates to the kitchen, he called to the others “Elvis is in the house.”

All three heads came up and looked, firs,t at Pouch, then turned, as if one, at Jenson.

He suddenly felt vulnerable under their scrutiny, almost like foretelling of an attack. Jenson quickly dropped his gaze, but he could still feel their eyes on him, boring in, exposing every bruise, cut, burn, caress.... He turned away.

It was Cougar who came for him first. “Mi hermanito, cómo estás?” he asked softly when he reached the side of the bed. 

Jenson would have shrugged, but the ache in his shoulder warned him against it. 

Always seemingly able to read his mind, Cougar sighed. “¿Duele?” he asked. “Hurt?”

Jenson looked up at him. “Siempre.” he whispered. “Always.” He didn’t often use Spanish. Not many people knew he knew it. They just assumed the way Cougar and he communicated was just some special link the two of them had. 

Fact was, he knew several languages. All part of that brilliant brain of his that had so many folks in a grabby mood.

Thinking about it, Jenson wondered if Mr. Blond knew that. Would it have upped his asking price? Did it make him a more valuable weapon? A more sought after commodity?

“Don’t.” Cougar hushed him as if he could hear that Brain of his spinning. “Don’t go there.” he warned, his own eye turning dark.

Jenson blinked up at him, wondering, as he often had in the past, just how the sniper knew what was going on in his head when he, himself, barely knew.

Cougar decided to move on. Licking his lips, he told him “Your bandages... I need to change them. Alright?”

The hacker blinked. “Bandages.” he repeated, then glanced down at his wrists. When Cougar held out his hand, Jenson gave him one of his own.

The most deadliest of the team was also the team’s medic. A strange combination that the rest of them had often theorized about. After all, what did snipers and medics have in common?

“A gentle touch.” Cougar advised before cutting the bandage off, unbeknownst to him, answering the unvoiced question.

Jenson watched as his friend cleaned his wrists and, after an inspection, wrapped one, but left the other free. “Cougs?” he asked softly. 

“Si?” 

“Lo siento.” he apologized.

Cougar glanced up at him. “Que?”

Jenson sighed. “Lo siento... you always have to save me. I’m always getting into trouble. And now you all are stuck here, baby sitting me, when you could be out... I don’t know, shooting stuff... I’m sorry I’m such a pain in the butt.”

The sniper chuckled as he turned his attention back to his work. “Mi hermanito.... life is sad and quiet without you. I like trouble. Gives me... reason to be shooting stuff.” he explained, throwing his friend a smirk. “There.” he announced, “healing well.” He moved down to the foot of the bed. “Pies.. feet.” 

Jenson didn’t watch this part, trying to focus on the ceiling as Cougar unwrapped his feet, carefully washed them, and touched some cream here and there. In some places the cream soothed the constant burning. In other places...

Jenson winced, nearly jerking his foot free. “Ow... ow, ow, fuck, ow!” he growled through clenched teeth.

“Easy, Cougar.” Pouch quickly chided their medic as he returned to the bedroom area. 

“Lo siento.” Cougar breathed, though he dabbed a little more, earning a yipe from his friend. “Lo siento, mi hermanito. Almost... Estate quieto...”

Jenson squeezed his eyes close and leaned his head back against the headboard. “Fuck, fuck, fuck....” he chanted as if it was a prayer to ease pain.

“Deep breaths, buddy.” Pouch tried to comfort him with a hand on his shoulder. “He’s almost done.”

“We okay?” Clay wanted to know as he approached, attracted by the not so settled noises. He stepped around to look over Cougar’s shoulder. “That’s the one through the bone?” 

Cougar nodded. “Si. It’s infected, but not bad... yet. Pie caliente. Fever in foot.” he explained.

Clay nodded. “I’ll pick up the antibiotics. See if you can’t talk him into some pain killers. It’ll help if he can get some decent sleep.”

“Why’d they start whacking away at his feet?” Pouch wondered out of the blue. He felt Jenson go very still under his hand. “I mean...” he tried to take it back, but didn’t know how, so, pushed forward. Supposed to be good to talk about trauma, right? “J, what happened?”

Jenson was very still for a moment, before, with a groan, he bounced his head off the headboard a couple of times. Not hard enough to do damage, but enough that Pouch tightened his grip on his shoulder.

“Hey!” Clay snapped. “Enough of that! Last thing you need is a concussion on top of everything else!”

“Man, you don’t need to answer.” Pouch tried quickly. “You know... just tell us when you’re ready. You don’t...”

“Half his eyes.” Jenson mumbled.

The three men stopped again, looking at him with startled expressions.

Jenson kept his eyes close, his head back, as he told them “Hackers need their eyes and their fingers. So... half his eyes, half my toes.”

“Clay.” Roque mumbled as he finally joined them. “The dude with the patch...”

Clay suddenly felt a surge of rage as he realized he let the man go who had been doing this! to his kid.

Roque pushed for more. “You took half his eyes?”

Jenson nodded. “When I tried to escape... with my Salvation... but it wasn’t Salvation. Just a spoon...”

“A spoon!” Pouch gaped. “You took a guy’s eyes out with a spoon? Damn, man, that is totally bad ass! Wished I had seen that...”

Jenson’s eyes snapped open, his head coming up to silence Pouch with a cold glare and a challenged “Wished you had seen him take my toe with a pair of pruning sheers too?”

Pouch took a step back.

But Jenson wasn’t done. “How about when they stuck little slivers in my skin and lit them on fire? That was really something! Oh, or when they discovered the many great uses for tasers? And then there was the time they used a steak knife to dig a fucking! Tracker! Out! Of! My! Arm!... Now, that was a real bad ass moment. And you shoulda seen what Pink could do with a razor blade! Did you know you could peal skin? Like the skin off a peach... little by little, pulling just enough...”

“Jenson!” Clay snapped.

He snapped his mouth shut so hard everyone could hear his teeth clank together. His chest heaved and he was shaking as he glared another moment at the shocked Pouch. Then, closing his eyes again, he laid his head back. “I’m tired.” he mumbled.

“I’m sure you are.” Clay answered coldly. “Cougar, you got this?” When his sniper gave a nod, Clay waved to Pouch and Roque. “Let’s get the shopping done and get back.” And he lead his two men down the stairs.

“Add some fuckin’ booze to the list.” Roque could be heard grumbling to Pouch.

When they heard the bus leave, Cougar sighed and began wrapping Jenson’s feet again.

Jenson didn’t react this time.

After a moment of silence, Cougar spoke up “Don’t be mad at Pouch.” When there was no response, he continued “He doesn’t understand.”

Jenson grunted.

Cougar paused to look at him. “Jake...”

“I know.” Jenson finally ground out through clenched teeth “I’m sorry.” And he turned his head away, eyes closed against the pain, the humiliation, the anger, the whole fucking world!

With a sigh, Cougar finished. Setting aside his kit, he moved to the head of the bed. For a moment he watched his friend.

Jenson’s chest was heaving, something that must have been throbbing against his bruised ribs. He was sweating which must have stung the countless little cuts and abrasions all over his body. He shivered, a shake that went straight through his damaged shoulder despite being strapped to his side. He held his legs so stiff the tired and bruised muscles looked as if they might snap. 

“Jake.” Cougar tried again. “Por favor... please, take the pills.” He held out his hand with the two little pain pills in it.

Jenson blinked his eyes open, turning his head to look down at them. For a breath, he almost looked like he would take them, like he would do anything to find some relief from the pain. But then he asked in a soft, far away voice “Do you think I broke?”

Cougar tilted his head to one side “No. Never.”

Blue eyes rose to lock with his. “You’re wrong.” he whispered.

Cougar frowned. After a moment, he shook his head. “No, you fought. You even fought us.” he pointed out.

“Mr. Blond would come to my room. He would ask me.... Do you want me to stay?” Jenson took a shuddering breath. “I knew, when he left, Pink and White would be back to... to hurt me... more! The only time no one was hurting me was when Mr. Blond was there! I... I didn’t want him to... to do that.... but I didn’t want... I... I couldn’t take it! I just.... I’m sorry!” He was pleading then, but not even he was sure if it was begging to be forgiven or to be despised for the traitor he was.

“You asked him to stay?” Cougar asked, still frowning. When Jenson nodded, the sniper considered. Then he asked “Did you tell him where others, like you, were?”

Jenson frowned this time. He shook his head.

“Did you tell him how to get around our own hackers?”

Again the negative.

Cougar smirked. “Did you program his DVR for him?”

A hesitation, but again a negative.

“Then you did not break.” Cougar said with all the self confidence he used when pulling the trigger. “You, mi hermanito, did what you had to do to survive, to give me time to find you, to find your moment to fight back. You never broke.” He held the pills a little higher. “And this is not asking him to stay. This is not breaking. This is fighting back... against the pain, against those who caused it, against him!” He shook his head. “You don’t need him to stay any longer!”

Jenson stared at him. His gut twisted with a torment of emotions.  
He was terrified of those pills...   
...of that hand snaking over his body...  
.....easing the hurt...  
...protection from the pain...  
..... being free...  
...taking possession...   
..... dulling the sensations....  
...releasing some pressure...  
“Do you want me to stay?”

Ever so slightly, he nodded. He snatched the pills, popping them in his mouth and swallowing before he could change his mind. Then he blinked big, glistening eyes at Cougar. “Lo siento.” he whispered.

Cougar sighed. He had no idea what Jenson was sorry for now and he knew some hurts, like self loathing, he couldn’t hope to sooth. So, he scooted onto the bed beside his friend and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

Jenson stiffened, but even he realized that an arm around his shoulders was nothing like anything Pink or White or even Mr. Blond had offered before.  
Safety.  
Comfort.  
Salvation.   
Protection.  
Forgiveness.  
And Cougar could never hurt him. So, with a tired groan, he closed his eyes and sank back against the sniper.

He wondered if it was the pain killers or the relief that puled him down into sleep.

0o0o0o0o0o0


	17. Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

o0o0o0o0o0o

Mr. Blond stood in the back of the room and watched as quick, delegate fingers danced across keys, flipping through hundreds, thousands, millions even, of bits of data as his cyber blood hounds searched the world for his missing Brilliant Beauty. Hands clasped before him, immaculate in his perfect grey suit, his expression the perfect mask of calm observation. No one could guess at the rage hidden away within the man.

Oh, the losses at the auction were minimal, though, yes, the market would be slumped for a time. But there would always be buyers, whether they be buying for the pleasures of the flesh or the lust of conquest... truly, they were one and the same after all... and Mr. Blond was far from out of stock. With a whole wide world of wanton men with foul intents and lost, disillusioned children, he was the man never left without ends’ meet. Not even the loss of his abode was of much concern.

What tried the seemingly endless patients of Mr. Blond was the loss of one, single asset: his Brilliant Beauty. The boy’s hope had been shattered, gutted by Mr. Pink’s vibrant talents, left all but destitute of sense of self. Now was the time that Mr. Blond would have taken him in hand, molding him into the perfect commodity, ready for use, as obedient as the kitchen’s microwave: set preference, hit start. 

But, now...  
After those....  
....Losers!.....  
.... tore him away from the sanctuary of his care....  
.... no doubt contaminating the wonderful mind with such pathetics as hope and freedom...  
......taring apart all their hard work in reading that ripe garden for his seed of obedience....

Yes, Mr. Blond raged.

But only deep inside where no one could see. The only outward sign hidden in the palm of his hands where his finger nails dug into flesh, leaving bloody tracks.

0o0o0o0

Clay paused when he stepped into the home and saw Cougar sitting with his back to the head board, legs stretched out along the bed, Jenson curled into his side. His killer sniper seemed enthralled with an episode of Days of our Lives while his energetic, bouncy hacker snored softly.

“Well, ain’t that a sight.” Roque mumbled as he came up behind his Colonel. “Take a picture. We can tease the hell out of them later. Now... help me with these fuckin’ groceries!” He pushed pass Clay with arms loaded down, mumbling about “I ain’t no fuckin’ real house wife of Cairo, goddammit!”

Clay went as far as carrying the load he already had over to the kitchen then turned and headed for the bedroom area. he slowed his approach when he saw Jenson whimper in his sleep, flinching. Cougar quickly leaned over him, purring Spanish at the kid like it was their own, private language. The sleeping hacker quieted again, relaxing back into a deep sleep. When the soft snore returned, Cougar gave a long sigh of relief. He looked up at Clay and offered a slight smile.

“Nightmares?” the Colonel asked softly, not wanting to disturb the kid. God knew, he could use some good, deep sleep. Preferably without the nightmares.

Cougar nodded once. “He threatens and growls, even jokes... but never begs. No matter how he cries, he never begs.” There was a tinge of pride in his whisper. But mostly he sounded sad and tired. Then his expression became murderous, though his voice stayed soft, almost purr like: “They hurt him bad. They took pleasure from hurting him. I want to hurt them back!”

Clay turned his eyes from the sleeping form to his sniper. Cougar had been up for days with Jenson, napping here and there, but no where near enough. The man was tense as a rattle snake and twice as deadly. Not a great combination even if he was on their side. “I’ll take over. Go find a bunk and catch some shut eye.” he offered with just enough order to his tone to stop any protest before it happened.

Cougar frowned. He glanced down at his best friend. He didn’t want to step away, even for a moment, but he knew the Boss was right. He was failing. What good was he to J if he couldn’t focus beyond his own eyelids? With another sigh, he carefully disentangled his arm from Jenson and stood up. “He took two around ten.” he informed him, nodding to the bottle of pain killers on the nightstand, then he started pass, heading for a cot. But, before walking away, Cougar told Clay one more thing: “Te tengo.”

Clay looked at him sharply, not understanding.

“I’ve got you. Te tengo. It is what I tell him when he’s dreaming.” Cougar nodded toward Clay and repeated “Te tengo.”

The Colonel returned the nod. “Te tengo. I’ll remember.” he promised. Not sure if his accent could pull off the same purr that Cougar could produce, but, hell, if it’d convince the kid they were there for him, he’d tell him in any and every goddamn language he could find!

Not quite convinced, yet satisfied, Cougar walked pass the kitchen and dropped face first on Clay’s cot against the big french doors.

Roque growled. “Oh, yea, go ahead, take a nap. I’ll just be here, being all Alice to your Brady Bunch.” he grumbled as he put groceries away.

Clay watched for a moment as the sleeping Jenson shuffled and whimpered, reaching out for the comfort and safety of his friend. He pulled a pillow close, burying his face, and settling back down. The colonel gave it another moment, just to make sure, before backing up to the kitchen. 

Roque set a long neck beer in front of him when he turned and leaned against the breakfast bar. 

“Thanks.” Clay mumbled.

Roque gave him a look as he popped the top on a beer for himself.

“What?”

“I want to hurt them too.” Roque told him. 

Clay huffed. “Hurt? I want to kill every last one of those bastards remotely involved with this shit! Including Taylor!” He quickly glanced over his shoulder, first one way, then the other, making sure their voices weren’t disturbing the, now, two sleeping men.

“So why aren’t we?” the big man demanded, though he kept his voice down. “Leave Pouch here with the kid. It’s safe enough. You, me, Cougar... we can pull a damn fine murderous rampage across the land that’ll make even Al Quida duck for cover!”

Clay shook his head. “I won’t risk Jenson again.”

“You know, he is a full grown, certified adult, right? An actual soldier of the grand ol’ Army of the United States of America?” Roque huffed. “Wasn’t too long ago you were reminding the rest of us of that little fact.”

Again Clay shook his head. “This is different. He’s...”

“What? He’s what?” his friend demanded.

Clay slammed his bottle of beer down and snarled “He’s a fucking kid! My fucking kid! And I let him down!” Like popping a balloon, the sudden snap of anger deflated the Colonel. With a sigh, he dropped down on one of the stools and took a sip of his beer. Voice in a near whisper, he told his Captain “I let him down.”

Roque gritted his teeth, feeling his friend’s pain. He looked over at their kid in the bed. Jenson looked tiny and little boy like, sleeping there. Screw the fact that he was as tall, nearly as strong as Roque, himself, and sure as hell smarter! There was an innocence to the kid that all his brains and bravo just couldn’t hide. Even after the hell he’d been through, there was still that little kid reaching out for the protection and assurances of his big brothers, believing that they’ll be there for him. 

He took a swallow himself, before telling Clay “It wasn’t your fault, man.”

Colonel Franklin Clay looked right at him and told him “We stay here! We keep him safe and out of harms way! And we keep those fuckers from getting their hands on him ever again! That is our mission! Our one and only mission!”

Roque looked at him for a moment. Then, with a shrug and another swallow of beer, answered with a “Sir, yes, sir.” Turning back to the groceries, he asked “So, what you want for dinner, sweetheart?”

Clay couldn’t help but smile. “Something kid friendly.”

“Drunk Pigs in a Beer Battered Blanket with a shot of whiskey it is.” 

“Light on the whiskey.” Clay suggested, snatching a pharmacy bag. “Won’t mix well with some of our meds.”

“Got it. Four shots of whiskey, one shot of chocolate milk.” 

Clay chuckled. “Oh, that’s gonna go over great.” He climbed to his feet again, beer in one hand, bag in the other. 

Roque took a moment to look over his shoulder. “Frank... still not your fault.”

Clay paused. He licked his lips, tilting his head to one side. “Let it be, Captain.” he finally warned, then continued on his way to Jenson’s bedside.

Jenson was shuffling about again, tugging at corners of his pillow, whimpering. 

Clay sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over him. “Jake... take it easy, kiddo. I got you... tea tango... or something...”

“Te tengo!” Roque corrected without looking up from his kitchen duties.

“Te tengo!” Clay snapped.

“Fuck you.” Jenson growled in response.

The Colonel straightened up. “You’re awake?”

“No, you all are asleep and screwing with my head.” came the growled answer.

Roque chuckled. “Then, man, you got some explaining to do. ‘cause the crap that goes on in my head...” he let out a long whistle.

The corner of Jenson’s lips twitched as if he was almost going to smile.  
Almost...  
He opened his eyes and looked up at Clay. He took a moment to note the bag in his hand, before his eyes shifted, searching. 

“Sent Cougar off for a cat nap.” Clay answered his unasked question.

The boy took a deep breath, held it a moment, then let it out in a long sigh. “He needed it.”

“Yea, well, he’s not the only one. Get any real sleep?” Clay wanted to know. “Or you been running yourself ragged in there?” He tapped Jenson’s forehead.

Jenson closed his eyes at the touch and stayed very still. When the hand pulled back without any harm, Jenson sighed again. He looked at Clay. “I’m okay.” he lied.

His Colonel’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re okay, what was the nightmare about?”

Jenson did smile then, but there was absolutely no humor in his expression when he answered “Rainbows and lollipops.”

“Well, now, that’s some scary shit there!” Roque quip from the kitchen.

Clay suddenly wondered how much the lamp cost and could he find a replacement if he threw it at Roque. He was distracted from that as Jenson struggled up into a sitting position. He resisted the urge to help him, knowing he wouldn’t want it. The kid knew he was there if he needed help. Still, the struggle to resist jumping to the rescue felt as tough as sitting up looked for Jenson.

“So,” Clay spoke again, offering a water bottle to Jenson when the kid was finally upright, sweat on his brow, chest heaving. “I picked up your Doc’s shopping list. You get a shiny, red ball!” He presented the rubber ball as if it was a trophy.

Jenson frowned at it. “Wasn’t much for ball.The old man’s idea of playing ball with his kid was throwing his lucky bowling ball at me.”

Clay’s head came up a little and, out of the corner of his eye, he knew it had caught Roque’s attention too. The kid rarely mentioned his father, the bastard being a violent asshole who had left tell tale signs of his drunken abuse all over his children. The fact that he was brought up in such an off handed manner was a sign of something; Clay just didn’t know what.

“Well,” he started, focusing on the ball, yet making mental notes, “this one is less for throwing and more for squeezing.” Clay reached out and put it in Jenson’s restrained hand. “Helps keep blood flow doing its thing. and we got you some cold packs and hot packs and anti flamatories and antibiotic...” The Colonel watched for any sign of resistance to the whole drug idea, but Jenson didn’t react at all. 

Cougar did say he had finally taken the pain meds. Maybe they were done fighting over that. Maybe the pain meds really did knock Jenson for a loop. Kid always was a light weight when it came to narcotics.

But then Jenson looked at Clay with a frown. “Did you see the Doctor?” he asked, a sudden squeak in his voice.

Clay frowned back. “Not since we left the hospital. But he’ll be here in a few days...”

“No!” Jenson shook his head. “Dr. Who!”

“Who? Dr. Fairway... the one that took care of you at the hospital... remember?” Clay glanced sharply at the pill bottle. 

How many did Cougar say he took?

“No!” Jenson ground out in frustration, agitation starting to bubble into something that might get out of control soon. “DR. WHO!” He shook his head. “That wasn’t her name. It’s what I called her. Everyone else just called her Doctor. She took care of me... at the... the place! She talked to me, helped me... she was like me... but not... a slave I mean. But she had given up. No one came for her, so she gave up.” 

“She?” Clay repeated slowly. 

Then he remembered what Taylor had said: “I thought the Doctor was a friend, someone who went through what I was going through, who’d be my friend, who’d help me.” She shook her head. “The Doctor... She’s the master! She picks out the brains that she can use and decides how to use them.” Taylor locked eyes with the man before her. “The Doctor has Jenson. You’ve got nothing left to save.”

“Jenson, tell me about the Doctor.” he ordered.

0o0o0o0

Down in the garage, Pouch had been feeling useless. When Pouch feels useless, he finds something to fix. And, though the van was in fairly good working order, what engine couldn’t do with a little overhaul. Thus the van engine now laid out in pieces across the tarped floor. He would need to do a little shopping the next day... fresh oil, new spark plugs and filters.... but with the money the geek squad had sent them, they had plenty to spend.

Bea and her hackers had been saving up to give a huge donation to Taylor’s pet charity, but, with her betrayal and the discovery of what that little house actually was, the geek squad decided to donate the money to help an actual rescue from human slave trade. Good bunch of kids there, even if most of the money apparently came from hacking illegal online gambling games. Pouch had to admit he wasn’t quite sure where the ethics laid on that one.

A rumble from his gut reminded Pouch that there were other things in the world besides engine parts and the questionable practices of Army employed hackers; Like food! Wiping his hands on a rag, he headed up stairs, taking two at a time. 

He hesitated at the door, remembering how he left in the morning. But, taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that bygones were bygones, particularly when they were hurt, stressed out, and frayed bygones. Not that he had been angry at Jenson’s snap. The kid was in a messed up place and he hadn’t thought about how his feelings might be skewed. Sure, Pouch was proud that the kid had fought back. But Jenson had paid a hell of a price for fighting back. Easy to be proud when someone else flipped the bill. Like ordering Taco Bell for the entire unit when someone else has latrine duty. 

But, bygones are bygones. Let it go, move on. Pouch had never been angry with Jenson. A little hurt, but never angry. He just hoped Jenson felt the same.

So, taking a deep breath, Pouch pushed open the door. “Honey, I’m home.... Shit!”

A red ball bounced off the door frame, nearly whacking him in the head, before bouncing off somewhere under the sofa.

“Jenson, calm down!” Clay snapped. Despite the command, he was backing away from the bed, hands held up.

Jenson sat on the edge of the bed, struggling with his shoulder brace. “She’s lying!” he snapped right back at his Colonel.

“What happened?” Pouch asked Cougar as the sniper hurried pass.

Cougar grunted in answer and kept going.

“I’m not saying Taylor wasn’t lying. I’m not even saying it was the same doctor!” Clay returned. “I’m just saying that this is what we heard and we need to be careful...”

“Careful? They smacked her around when I just tried to escape!” Jenson cried. “What do you think they’ll do to her now that I actually did get away?! Her whole job was to keep me alive! What’s she gonna do now I’m not there?” He shook his head. “We gotta go back! We gotta get her out!”

“NO!” both Cougar and Clay snapped at the first breath of “go back,” their voices over laying Jenson’s.

As the three argued, Pouch slipped around the battle ground to the kitchen where Roque was calmly making dinner. “What happened?” he asked again.

Roque set a beer down in front of the Sargent, explaining “Dad, there, found out that his youngest, apparently, had a girlfriend while away at camp. Son wants to bring girlfriend home to meet the family. But Dad’s heard rumors that said girlfriend is a tramp, hanging around with the wrong crowd and all, thus doesn’t want son to have anything to do with her. While his youngest is outraged at what little faith Dad has in him and that he based his belief on the word of a self declared tramp and liar just because Dad hooked up with her a few times. Now big brother is moving in to try and calm things down so they can talk reasonably and he can finally get some sleep.”

Pouch stared at the big man. 

“What?” Roque asked, taking a swig of his second beer.

Pouch shrugged. “Just wondering where you and me fit in the family.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Roque stepped back to wave a hand at himself. “I’m Mom, stuck in the kitchen, slaving away over a hot stove all day without even a thank you. I mean, would it kill your Dad to bring home flowers every now and again? And you’re the retarded middle child who keeps asking stupid questions.”

Pouch frowned. “Man, you really gotta lay off the day time TV.” he chided.

“What? Deal with reality instead? Have you seen our reality lately?” Roque huffed right back before snapping around to pour some more beer on the dogs.

“Where’s my laptop?” Jenson demanded. “We don’t need to go anywhere! I can find her...”

“Didn’t bring it!” Clay shut him down.

Pouch straightened up at the lie. Oh, he understood why the Boss lied, but bad things happens when he lies to his men. Trust was kinda a big thing for the Losers. 

Jenson glared at Clay as if he knew right off that there was no way on earth he was sitting in a room without some sort of computer.

“Why don’t I give Bea a call.” Pouch spoke up before his brain had a chance to proofread what was spilling out of his mouth. When all angry parties turned to glare at him, he shrugged. “Look, the van is down for the week. Not like we’re going anywhere. J, man, I get that you wanna save your girl and burn down some houses. But, man, you’re beat all to hell! And we don’t know where the hell to go anyhow! So...” he waved a hand in the air. “Let Bea and her hackers do some hunting...”

“I’m a hacker!” Jenson growled.

“Without a computer.” Clay pointed out which drew Jenson’s hateful glare.

“Hey! Guys!” Pouch called to them. When the two looked at him, he shook his head. “There is nothing we can do right now, but recover! Let’s recover! Bea can do her hacker thing... yea, not as good as you, J, but she did find you!... By the time she’s got something, we’ll be ready to do something about it! Right?” He looked at Cougar and was rewarded with a grunt and head bob. He looked at Roque who shrugged and popped the top on another beer. He looked at Clay and Jenson.

“That’s all I’m asking.” Clay agreed.

Jenson glared at them. “Yea? Do I really get a vote? Or is it all drugs and lies? Is there a set of cuffs just in case that all doesn’t work?” he snarled. With a shake of his head, he told them “Least Mr. Blond was honest about what he wanted: be my brilliant beauty, fuck my fist, and I’ll make all the pain go away!” He fell back across the bed, turning his head away from all of them. 

Clay sighed. “Jake...”

“Fuck you, sir, Colonel, sir!” was snapped.

“Shut it, Corporal!” Clay snapped right back. He took a menacing step toward the bed, fists balled up. “And fucking well look at me, goddammit!”

Cougar ruffled, but stayed where he was.

Even the half drunk Roque snapped to at the tone, taking a very ready stance, his eyes on Cougar... just in case...

Pouch suddenly felt he was in the wrong house.

His chest heaving, Jenson slowly turned his head to peer at his commanding officer with very shiny blue eyes. His mouth was clamped shut so tight his lips were turning white. Everything about him looked like he was about to burst into tears... helpless, pathetic tears that he would rather die than shed in front of these men!

It was a look that cooled Clay’s anger a little, but not his determination. “I get you care about this girl, your Dr. Who. You believe she’s a good guy. She just might be! God knows our info didn’t come from any sort of reliable source. But we don’t know where she is. We don’t know who she is. We fucking well simply don’t know! There is only one fucking thing I do know without a scrap of doubt.” He took one more step toward the bed. “Right here, right now... Nothing! No one! Is worth you!”

Jenson stared at him.

As if his anger suddenly drained him, Clay glanced at his other men almost shyly. “I’m going for a walk.” he growled, spinning about and heading for the stairs. “Make sure he eats! He can’t take his antibiotics on an empty stomach!” Then he was gone, out the door and down the steps and out into the evening air.

0o0o0o0o0o0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yea, I'm banging my head on this one. It's like I know where I want the chapter after the next to go, I just don't know how to fill the space in between or get them where I need them to be.  
> So, again, any comments, good or bad, desperately needed.  
> ~~The Chronicler


	18. Chapter Eighteen

0o0o0o0o0o0

Chapter Eighteen

o0o0o0o0o0o

Little Corporal Beatrice Crown, with her oversized combat boots and florescent pink laptop, lead a pack of mad dog hunters, hungry for vengeance laced blood.

Purely in code that is.

Bea had gotten a call from Pouch only a few hours earlier, but Bea had already been on a similar hunt, searching for other lost hackers and Army techs that might have been betrayed and sold off. Since her arrest, Taylor had offered up little bits here and there: a techie from Delta that had been MIA; another from forensics that was thought to have gone AWOL; two more assumed KIAs brought back to life from one explosion or another attack.... if they could only find out who bought them and where they were now!

Without Taylor, or even Jenson, around to give the Geek Squad direction, the hackers took over, either converting or right out over running the regular Army Squares. Bea had gave them a target and now they were on their fourth straight day of attacks on the Dark Web’s human trafficking links. After realizing what they were doing, Morrison gave the Squares orders to help, though, as geeky as they might have been, they were no hackers. So, Bea put them to work running interference. 

Someone out there was hunting right back!

They had spotting several deep searches, hacking web cams all over the world, searching for the face of their very own Jenson. Bea set the Squares about jamming up those seekers, while her own digital dogs of war sniffed them out.

Now Pouch, calling her “little sister” which just tickled the girl all sorts of ways, gave her another search. 

“Find Dr. Who.”

Bea had actually taken a moment to glare at the phone before asking “Dr. Who? Like with the Tardis and sonic screwdriver and all?”

“You have got to be kidding me!” Pouch had cried at her. “We spent, like, forever playing Who’s on First before figuring out that’s what he had NAMED her. I give you one pop and you got it?!”

“It’s a geek thing. You wouldn’t understand.” she assured.

A few more minutes was enough to convince Bea they didn’t have enough to find this Dr. Who. Jenson had only a vague description.   
Dude was awesome with the digital world of facts and numbers; not so good with the human aspect of life.   
She needed to find some more parameters for her search. And there was only one source she could think of that could tell them anything about any “doctor” involved with Mr. Blond.

Thus, she found herself standing outside of Taylor’s cell, eyes locked on the floor because she couldn’t bring herself to look at the woman who had, up to a few days ago, had practically been a den mother to the Geek Squad. 

And!  
She!  
Had!   
Betrayed!  
Them!  
All!

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Bea.” Taylor chided her. “What do you need, sweety?”

Her eyes rose just enough to send a smoldering glare at the woman’s knees. “I need to know how to find the doctor you told Colonel Clay about.” she growled out. She opened her tablet and turned it on, recording every word. 

Taylor smiled. “Turn it off, Bea.” she told her.

“Every statement needs to be recorded for...”

“I’m not making a statement.” Taylor interrupted. “DOD, FBI, CIA... the whole fucking alphabet has been through here and has gotten every last statement I had to give. And not a damn one gets it. They’re all out hunting the lion of the pack, their King of the Human Weapons Trade... and the whole time it’s the lioness rules the kingdom.” She nodded to the tablet. “You want to know about her? Turn it off.”

Bea’s eyes did come up then, studying the woman she had once dreamed of being just like, that now stood before her a complete stranger.

It startled the girl how much she hated that stranger! Hackers, techies, people she had known, friends, comrades... so many possible victims, traded off by this woman they had all trusted, even adored. Taylor had been there to remind them to eat, when to go to sleep, that that tingling feeling in their legs meant it was time to get up and walk away from the computer for awhile. She had taken care of them, been there for them, kept them grounded and a part of the real world. More times than not Taylor was the only reason most of them hadn’t pulled a Tron and completely surrender themselves to the digital world. She was there everything: big sister, mother, confessor, moral compass...

Bea had huff at that thought.

Moral compass, and the whole time she was fattening up their brains, preparing them for the harvest. All they had been to her were commodities, weapons she polished up for the sale!

And now Bea really looked at the woman before her knowing that Taylor had never been the person she had loved and dreamed of being. Taylor was nothing to her now, but a tool, something she needed to use to help Jenson.

So she tapped her tablet, and the light went out, singling the recording being turned off. “Tell me about the Doctor.” she said again, a new confidence sounding in her tone.

Again Taylor smiled at her. “Listen to that. Squeak all gone. I am so proud of you, sweety.”

Bea started to turn for the the exit.

“The Doctor!” Taylor quickly went on, calling her visitor back. When Bea returned, the fallen from grace commander continued: “I never knew her as anything other than just the Doctor. She said she had been taken as a small child, so small she couldn’t remember her name or where she had come from. Would have been sold to the flesh peddlers if some quick eye hadn’t spotted how smart she was. They actually educated her, sent her to university under strict supervision, all so they could have their very own brilliant doctor who could be trusted with their secrets. Someone they owned completely.”

“Sounds like a victim to me.” Bea pointed out.

“I think she was.... at first.” Taylor agreed, sounding thoughtful. “But they underestimated just how smart she was. They raised her in a world that manipulates every aspect of a person to their advantage. She was a child prodigy brought up watching how humans used and abused and sold their fellow human beings. She saw, soaked it all up, and then they tossed on a high and mighty education on top of that. And you know doctors have a bit of a god complex to begin with! The Doctor might have received a doctorate in medicine and psychology, but she was a master of manipulation.”

“And what? You and her got all besties so she told you all this?” the corporal demanded.

“I know all this because I was there when she overthrew her Masters and started her reign.” Taylor’s eyes dropped and she shivered from the memory. “She had spent what seemed like days with me in my little kennel, telling me that no one was coming for me, that hope was the worse torture that could ever happen to me... and that torture I did to myself! She told me to look at her, how she was protected and taken care of because she had proven her worth. All I had to do was prove my worth.” Taylor practically spat the last word out.

Bea let her take a pause to regain some control. She could almost feel sorry for the woman before her... if she hadn’t been such a lying, traitorous bitch herself.

Taylor looked up at her again. “There was a lot of us there, but I was the only American. All American Sweetheart, she told them, someone she could use for future farming...”

“Farming?” Bea snapped. “You mean us? We were just a crop you cultivated?”

“Yes, that’s exactly the way she described it.” Taylor answered. “But Americans were a big sell and they ignored her. So, the Doctor just gave a nod... just one little nod... and the guards just up and turned on the masters and... and slaughtered them right where they stood! Every last one of them! I don’t know what she promised those men or how she got them to do her dirty work, but they did. And, I dare say, gleefully!”

“Probably pressed into service themselves or such.” Bea suggested, turning it over in her own head. 

“Maybe. I honestly don’t know and I don’t care.” Taylor admitted. “The Doctor gave me a choice: be worth her while, or don’t be at all.” She shrugged, shaking her head. “I was barely more than a kid. I was scared. I had just seen a dozen men hacked to pieces before my very eyes. And it seemed, almost, like she had done it to save me! She saved me! Do you understand that? What that had felt like to me?” She paused to tug on her gray prisoner jumpsuit as if trying to look more dignified in it. “How could you?” she finally whispered, before continuing: “I chose to be worth it. She gave me an education, she CULTIVATED me, sent me back to the States, signed me up in the Army, and, suddenly, I was jumping up the food chain and handed a bunch of freaks with piercings and rainbow hair and told to make them Army ready! To CULTIVATE them for the Army!” She chuckled. “Long before I started weeding some out to send her way, the Army had me farming you all for their own needs. Need a genius translator here, a break-in techie there, battle trained hacker somewhere else... You guys, my Geek Squad... I protected you! I kept you safe, protected you from both the Army and the Doctor! Yea, sure, I had to make some sacrifices along the way, but you were safe!”

“Don’t fool yourself!” Bea snarled. “You didn’t do any of this for us, for me! You did this because you’re just like her! You like the power of pointing at someone and declaring ‘you are saved’ then someone else and ‘you are damned!’ You might have started out a victim, but you got your masters in manipulation too!”

Taylor straightened up, towering over the smaller woman. “Oh, sweety, I’m good, but I got nothing on the Doctor.” She actually smiled when she told the girl “I bet you right this minute Jenson... despite being safe and sound, surrounded by his big eyed, hound dog brothers... he’s sitting up right now, desperately trying to figure how to get back to the Doctor, knowing that he’ll only ever really be safe if he proves to her his worth.”

“Mr. Blond...”

“Mr. Blond couldn’t be any more a puppet if she had her hand shoved up his ass!” Taylor snapped. “Go ahead! Give the Losers a call! Tell them to ask him how saved he feels. How much he wants to go back.” she challenged.

Bea stared at her for a moment. She would call, but not until she got a hold of herself. She was actually afraid of what the answers would be.   
So, back to topic: “Where is she?”

Taylor rolled her head, letting her neck pop. When she looked at Bea again she admitted with a shrug “No idea. Haven’t actually seen her since she sent me back to the US. Everything’s always been through messages left here or there, cryptic texts and message boards. When I was with her it was in India, but I’ve sent packages all over the world.”

“Packages?”

“Really, sweety, if you’re gonna throw a fit over everything I say, we’re gonna be here all night.” Taylor complained. 

Bea’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you send your victims?” she growled.

“You want the whole list? I have been at this for ten years now. Or would you like just the most recent?” Taylor actually sounded cocky.

So much for being one of the victims!

“Make your fucking list!” Bea snapped. “Start with the most recent, work your way back. I’m gonna send a sketch artist. You will cooperate with him!”

Taylor’s eyebrows rose. “Are you giving the orders now?” she wondered.

“Yes.” Bea answered without hesitation. “Do it! If you have a hope of hell of ever proving you give a damn about any of us... do it!” And she spun about and stomped out the door.

Outside, she handed her tablet to General Morrison. “It’s all there.”

The General frowned. “Thought you told her you weren’t recording.”

Bea rolled her eyes. “Yea, funny how trust works around her.”

0o0o0o0

It was late when Clay returned to the safe house. He crept up the stairs, feeling a little like a teenager sneaking in after curfew. But all the lights were off, the building dark except for the faded light from the street outside the french doors. All was quiet except for the soft breathing of sleeping men. 

Pouch had moved his cot away from the door, knowing that was how his Colonel would return. Clay had no doubt that the young man has awoken as soon as the door opened, but, seeing who it was, had, like any good soldier, dropped right back to sleep, his duty done.

Clay stood still for a moment, letting his eyes adjust. Then, like any good commander, he counted heads. Peering through the dark, he couldn’t make out details, but he didn’t need them. He was far too familiar with his boys’ forms not to be able to pick them out: Pouch, always with the covers pulled up, tucked under the chin; Roque, covers tossed aside, wearing nothing but shorts, heavy limbs dangling off edges; Cougar, curled in a tight ball, taking up, maybe, only a third of his cot, like, even in his sleep, he was hiding; and Jenson...

Not in his bed!

Instant alarms in his head drowned out his first thoughts, as the Colonel’s head whipped about, searching for his missing man. So distracted by the moment of panic, Clay nearly missed him. It wasn’t until his second survey of the home, his mouth open, ready to call the others awake, that he spotted the figure sitting on the floor, leaning back against the open frame of one of the french doors.

Jenson, wearing clean pajamas, his shoulder brace replaced with a simple sling, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, was gazing up at the night sky, seemingly unaware that anything was amiss.

Clay took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He had been hoping to put it off until morning, but Jenson was up, he was up, everyone else was not. So...

Stepping quietly, he moved across the floor.

Jenson’s eyes flickered to watch him when he came close enough to catch his attention. He didn’t move, but he watched him.

As expected. Clay knew it would be a long time before the kid felt safe enough to just trust that no one was going to just up and hurt him. 

The Colonel rolled over an end piece of the sectional and took a seat. From the inside of his coat pocket he produced a pair of long neck bottles. Popping the top on one, he offered it out to his Corporal.

Jenson frowned at the offering. 

“Alcohol free beer.” Clay whispered assurances. “Won’t mess with your meds.”

Still frowning, Jenson took the offering and sniffed at it.

Clay almost smirked at his hesitation. As he popped the top on his own, he chuckled softly. “Alcohol free beer... kinda an oxymoron there, huh.”

Jenson sighed, relaxing into a lighter mood. “You know it’s Armageddon when fire falls from the sky, rivers run red with blood, and alcohol free beer comes into existence.” he whispered back.

Again Clay chuckled. Then the two men were quiet for a time, Jenson turning his attention back to the night sky, Clay watching him. After awhile, Clay asked “Should I be worried you’re planning your escape out the window?”

Jenson humphed. “I can see that... swan dive out the second story window with a twist and roll on the landing, coming up on my feet ready to run... oh, wait... no feet. Well, damn, gotta rethink that.”

“Sarcasm. Proof pain killers don’t dull away all the brain’s higher functions.” Clay returned, feeling a little snarky himself. 

Jenson gave him a look that made Clay feel a little like an interrogation was taking place without a word passing between them. As if Jenson was trying to judge just how much of what he could say to him. He must have come to some sort of conclusion, because he turned back to the night sky and said softly “I missed the sky. I didn’t realize how much... my room, it didn’t have a window. I didn’t know when it was day or night, or how many days or nights had passed. And they kept changing the frequency of... stuff... Mr. Blond would say a month had passed and it would have seemed only a few days. Then he’d say another had passed... But it wasn’t just about time. It was out there! It was open air and a breeze and... and...”

“Freedom.” Clay supplied the missing word.

Jenson glanced at him, appraising him again, before turning back.

Again they sat in silence.

Again it was Clay’s soft voice that eventually broke the silence. “Twenty-eight.” When Jenson looked at him, he told him “You were gone for twenty-eight days.”

The kid’s eyes widen. “Is that all? Twenty-eight days?” He shook his head in disbelief. “It seemed like... like forever.”

Clay bobbed his head to one side. “A tactic of torture. The more time that passes, the less likely of rescue, thus the loss of hope, then surrender. Remember SARS training?”

Again the kid humphed. “Thought SARS was hell. Now, thinking back, that was a Sunday picnic.”

Clay smiled slightly. 

Jenson gazed up at the stars. “I missed the way they twinkled.” he said after a moment. “I’d close my eyes and see flashes of light and pretend it was the stars.” His eyes dropped. “It wasn’t, but I pretended.” He sniffed.

“Jake...” Clay started out carefully, knowing this was dangerous ground, but he had to know. “What happened?”

Jenson actually chuckled. “Well, let’s see... I was kidnapped, drugged, beaten, beaten again, beaten a few more times, cut on, tased, drowned, frozen...”

“I mean...” Clay hesitated, not sure how to put it. He needed to know what happened to him, what he couldn’t save him from.

Jenson rolled his head until he was looking at him again. “You mean details.” he supplied in a mono tone voice, his eyes suddenly flat and cold.

Clay felt caught by those eyes, like, even if he could take it back, he could never escape asking the question. What was worse, he had trapped Jenson along with him.

With nothing else to do, the Colonel took a swig from his bottle, hoping to find some liquid courage. He did not. Clay gagged on the horrid flavor. Making all sorts of faces, he desperately glanced around for salvation, but, finding none, had to settle for wiping his tongue with his hand. “Ug! That is the most... ug, taste like fuckin’ piss!”

Jenson chuckled, light returning to his eyes. “I coulda told you that.”

Clay stared at him. “You knew it was bad? And you didn’t warn me?”

Jenson shrugged his good shoulder. “You were trying to be nice.”

“And you repay me by poisoning me?!” Clay accused.

“You shoulda known, dumb ass.” came a growl from Roque’s cot somewhere in the dark. A pair of chuckles from the other two noted he wasn’t alone in his opinion. But Roque, being the good friend he was, wasn’t done, demanding “Just how the hell you know what piss taste like any how?!”

Chuckles turned into laughter, most notable from the kid sitting on the floor in front of him. Jenson’s laughter was interrupted here and there with a hiccuped “ow” but it was genuine laughter nonetheless. 

Clay did his very best to glare at Jenson, but could feel his own smirk breaking through. So, he snatched the horrid bottle out of the boy’s hands and glared around the dark room. “Shut up, you lousy bunch of Losers!” he snarled, stomping off to the kitchen to up end the two nasty drinks in the sink. He returned a moment later with a couple of ginger ales, and reclaimed his seat. When he offered one to Jenson, the kid gave him the most perfect you-have-got-to-be-kidding look that would put any teenager to shame. 

“No alcohol!” Clay said in a tone that would have put any mother of a teenager to shame.

With an exaggerated sigh, Jenson accepted the ginger ale, ignoring the snickers from his brothers in arms. 

Clay sat back, letting his men settle down and a quiet grow between them again. He watched Jenson as the kid sniffed the ale, take a tentative sip, then gave a real sigh, his eyes returning to the sky outside. He let the boy relax a little, losing himself in the freedom of the stars.

“Jake, what did he do to you?” Clay spoke softly.

Jenson stiffened.

“Not White or Pink or whatever color of the rainbow.” Clay went on. “What did Blond do to you?”

The boy’s eyes fell from the stars, his breath catching.

Clay let him sit for a moment, watching, knowing his mind was racing through memories he didn’t want to revisit ever again, searching for something he could say, he dared to say.

Then Jenson shrugged his good shoulder. “He... he never hurt me... if that’s what you mean.” he finally answered. His eyes flickered, looking at his commander from the corner of his eyes, hoping that those few words would be enough.

Clay sat quietly, patiently waiting.

Jenson tried to focus on the stars again, pushing out the memories of those hands roaming across his skin, the sickly sweet breath on the back of his neck, the gross tongue lapping at his ear, the thick fingers wrapping around his...  
His breath caught, sending a shudder through his body. He dropped his eyes, suddenly feeling a waste of light of those brilliant stars. They should be shining down on someone who was free, truly free. Not someone just waiting to be thrown back into his cage, his dark little room of pain and humiliation and loneliness and hopelessness... 

“Jake...?”

Jenson’s head snapped about, eyes going big, as if startled to find Clay sitting there, barely within reach. Strong, protective, self-assured, in complete control Colonel Franklin Clay, able and willing commander of the Losers! And Jenson suddenly felt a waste of his time and effort.

Dropping his eyes, he mumbled “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Clay remained where he was, waiting.  
Endlessly waiting.  
Supportive.  
Patient.  
Silent.

“It wasn’t like I told him no.” Jenson suddenly blurted out. He waved his hand in the air as he explained in quick, chirp like tones “I knew as long as he was there, no one was hurting me. As soon as he left they would drag me back to that room and it would start all over again. And I couldn’t... I know I’m weak and I’m screwed up, but I couldn’t... so... I didn’t say no....” His voice fell away as his eyes locked on some unseen elsewhere.

Clay took a deep breath to steady himself, making sure his voice would be strong and reassuring. “It’s called coercion. He used the threat of harm to get what he wanted. It’s the same as if he physically over powered you and threw you on the bed to r...” He stopped, unable to actually say the word. He had read the reports Bea had sent them, copies of interviews with the rescued slaves from the raid. Only a few had been broken by Blond. And they all told of the same slimy, twisted test Blond played to see just how broken they were. The man was a sexual predator and he seemed to have quite the taste for big brains and innocent demeanors.

AKA: One Corporal Jake Jenson.

Clay could imagine what happened, though he did his damnedest not to. He’d like to think that he would have picked the pain over the... other... but the bastards were chopping off his toes, for fuck sake! How long could anyone hold out?

“It didn’t get that far.” Jenson mumbled as if he could hear Clay’s rushing thoughts.. He fingered an imagined thread from his sling. “Not yet, anyway.” He chewed on his lower lip a moment, before quickly pushing out “It would, sooner than later. He wanted more every time. But not yet. Not that far... yet.”

“How far did it get?” Clay managed to ground out through clenched teeth.

Jenson plucked at the imaginary thread. His breath was ragged, his hands shook. He could feel himself slip back into memories he wanted to be so far away from. He could feel those heavy hands roam over his skin, going where they wanted as if they owned his body. He shuddered. “Please.” he nearly gasped. “Can we talk about something else?”

Clay felt like he had been hit in the gut with the sound of the plea. What could he do against such a force as that plea? He stared at the bottle in his hands for a moment. He had mental notes on how he was gonna continue this conversation, several sheets of mental notes, He shuffled his thoughts, trying to get pass the sound of that plea ringing in his ears. Finally, he took a gulp of ginger ale and plunged in. “I was out there, just walking around, and it kinda came to me: you don’t want to get any better.”

Jenson looked at him with a stone face. It was hard to see emotions in the shadows of the night, but Clay would swear that there was nothing to be seen in that boy’s expression. No shock, no denile, no anger, no relief, nothing!

And that told Clay everything he needed to know. He just had to get the kid to admit it. 

“You think you’re still in that Blond bastard’s cage, that this is all just the con in between the tortures.” Clay continued.

“That’s insane!” Pouch could be heard hissing, but was silenced by Roque’s snapped “Shut it, boy!”

Clay silently thanked his best friend. Roque would handle the other two boys; he would focus on Jenson. “I bet you even think Blond just LET us take you. Let you heal up some, start to feel safe again, start to think you have a chance, a hope of being free again. Nothing quite like starting to hope again, feeling like it’s all over... only to be tossed right back down in the pit of hell again. That’s why you don’t want to get any better! Higher you climb out of that pit, the further to fall.”

Jenson just looked at him for a long moment. Then he looked at his ginger ale. He raised it to his lips and paused. “Hope. There is no worse torture than false hope. And that you do all to yourself.” he spoke in mono tones, as if reciting some boring text. He took a swallow of his drink before gazing up at the stars again.

“Hope.” Clay repeated, but he had his own take on the word. “Hope is also the greatest salvation. It’s hope that drives men to explore new frontiers, to dig into the unknown, to hold on when there is nothing else to hold on to. It’s hope that gets us from day to day and through the worse moments in life.”

The kid shook his head. “He’ll never let me go. Mr. Blond doesn’t lose money on a deal. He’ll come for me. He’ll take me back. And there’s nothing any of you can do about it. He’ll kill you. He’ll kill all of you just to show me how he can brake me.”

“He won’t brake you!” Clay cut him off. “I won’t let him! I won’t let him anywhere near you!” he swore through gritted teeth. 

“None of us will!” Roque snarled from his darkness, though he sounded much closer than his bunk.

Jenson didn’t respond. 

And Clay knew why. He didn’t believe them. “You’re the smartest kid I’ve ever known, so, if you don’t think Blond will let you go, then I believe you. So, what do we do?”

Jenson looked right at him, eye for eye. “Let me go.”

“Not going to happen!” the Colonel snapped.

The kid blinked at him. Then looked away, turning back to the outside world. But he didn’t look up at the stars this time. He couldn’t bring himself to look at them again, knowing he was going to lose them, lose the sky all over again.

“Okay.” Clay reshuffled his mental notes. “Let you go where? What’s your plan? Gonna knock on his front door and blow his fuckin’ head off as soon as he answers it?” He paused to shrug. “Good plan if a bit simple. Few problems there, like anyone know where the hell his front door might be? And you really think his people are gonna let you anywhere near him? What’s your exit plan?” He paused for an answer. When none came, Clay had a sinking feeling. “Is there an exit plan? Or is it suicide mission?... Or just suicide?”

Jenson’s eyes flickered toward him. 

Clay groaned “Goddamn it, Jenson!” He slammed his ginger ale down hard on the coffee table and ran his fingers through his hair. “Goddamn it!” he said again. “You really think that would be the end of it? What about Blond’s next victim? And what about your sister? And that little niece of yours? Shit, what the hell about us? You gonna just leave us with that?”

The kid flinched at the mention of his girls.

The Colonel leaned forward and spoke a little softer “What about that doctor of yours? What’s you going and getting yourself killed gonna do for her?”

Jenson looked at him sharply, his eyes bright and shimmering in the moon light. With a slight tremble to his jaw, he jerked his eyes away again to glare down at the street below, refusing to answer, refusing to think about any of it.

“Okay.” Clay shuffled his mental notes again, leaning back and reclaiming his ale. “I’ll make a deal with you.”

No response.

And that started the anger bubbling at the back of Clay’s mind. “Corporal! Look at me!” he snapped.

Ever the obedient soldier... at least when Clay took that tone, Jenson turned to look at him.

“I’ll make you a deal.” Clay repeated. “You get better... take your pain killers, your antibiotics, sleep, eat, be marry, yadda, yadda, yadda... You get better and, when the doc stops by to confirm it, we’ll go hunting Blond... Together!” 

Jenson frowned, his mind working on what Clay had said.

The Colonel took that as an opening. “J, look at yourself. You can’t stand, much less walk to find anything, forget finding Blond! Want to go wireless to find him? Use a computer? You can’t concentrate! And, no, that isn’t the pain meds. It’s you being hurt and sick and malnourished and exhausted and all the rest of it. Can you even hold a gun steady?”

The kid tried to glare at him, but finally had to drop his eyes. He knew Clay was right. Still... “Further I have to fall.” he whispered, not entirely sure if he had meant for Clay to hear.

But Clay did hear. He nodded slightly. “Yea, that’s true, it’s a risk. You get better and Blond somehow manages to get his hands on you... yea, being better means you’ll have further to fall. But it’s not like the rest of us aren’t taking a risk too. Hell, only way Blond does get his hands on you is over our dead bodies. Can’t fall much further than that.”

“Amen.” came a choir of voices from the dark voicing their pledge.

Jenson peered into the darkness as if searching out each one of his brothers, finding the reassurance and strength they were offering him.

“Jake.” Clay called his attention back to him. When those blue eyes came about, Clay almost pleaded “Give it to the end of the week. The doc will be here then to check on you. If he says you’re getting better, then the leash comes off. I give you my word, we’ll hunt Blond down the only way a Loser can: like we got nothing left to lose!”

The kid took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Finally he gave a little nod. “End of the week.”

0o0o0o0o0


	19. Nineteen

0o0o0o0o0

Chapter Nineteen

o0o0o0o0o

General Morrison glared at the DOD agent. “And where the flying fuck is Grey?!” he roared.

“Coming, sir.” Cain was quick to cover for his commander. “He is in communication with our operative watching...” he hesitated before giving out too much information, looking a little worried that he might have already said too much.

The General raised an eye brow. “Yea, I get it: spy shit!... well, tell him to hurry the fuck up! I don’t have time for his fuckin’ spy shit! Some of us actually have to work for a livin’!

Cain bobbed his head before spinning about and hurrying off to do whatever it was he had to do to get his boss there.

Morrison humphed, then turned to watched as Taylor was escorted out of her cell and down the steps toward them.

“This is shit.”

Morrison glanced down sharply at the little hacker standing at his side. “Excuse me, Corporeal, didn’t quite get that.” 

“Said this is sh...” Bea started again before realizing just who she was talking to. “Um... not good... Sir?”

Morrison humphed again. “This is shit.” he confirmed. “Fuckin’ DOD punks walkin’ in and shittin’ all over my base and people.”

“Taking our prisoner!” Bea growled right along beside him.

Again the General paused to glance down at such venom from such a little thing, feeling a father’s pride in seeing his little girl beating the crap out of the school bully. Bea turned out to be quite the interrogator, pulling wool from a bare butt bald sheep! She took two words from Taylor, tapped away at her keyboard, and turned it into a world of info that she used to get the next two words. The little hacker had taken them from shutting down auctions to shutting down dealers to closing in on suppliers.

So, he had to wonder, if, with a little more time... “You think you can get anything more from her?” Morrison half challenged, half honestly wanted to know.

But the girl shook her head. “She’s done. It’s just the whole taking what’s ours crap that burns my ass. Like tea-bagging my avatar!” a quick glance up at him and she quickly added “Sir.” But then she was waving her hand in the air. “And, Grey-ass, there, chasing after Blond like Golem after the One Ring to Rule Them All! Kinda wanna shoot him, but really, just holding out to see him fall into the fires of Muldor.”

Morrison raised one eyebrow at her. “Well... that would be something to see...” Then he shook his head his head and chuckled. Girl spouted geek references like he tossed around fuck. Kids theses days!

The two of them watched as Taylor was lead to a black DOD ATV where Cain and, finally, Grey appeared out of. Grey held the back door open for his prisoner as he officially took custody of her from the MPs. Then, leaving her in Cain’s care, he slinked up to the General. 

“Sir!” snapped to Grey/Golem. “I apologize for my tardiness...”

“Grey, are you fuckin’ well wearing fuckin’ body armor AGAIN on base? In the fuckin’ middle of the base? You know this is a fuckin’ desert, right? It is fuckin’ hot out here!” Morrison cut him off more for the sheer enjoyment of doing so than for any argument’s sake.

Grey simply stood, looking at the General, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses, his thumbs hooked into the shoulder straps of his breast plate.

Morrison looked him up and down, then admitted “Probably a good idea, thinkin’ on it. I’d imagine there’s a body or two who’d want to take a pot shot at you. With a fuckin’ canon!”

“Only two?” Bea mumbled almost under her breath.

Almost.

Grey shifted his hidden glare at the girl. “Corporeal.” he greeted in a cold tone. “Wanted to congratulate you on your efforts. Excellent job for such a noob. But time for the professionals to take over.”

The girl’s hackles came up instantly. “Noob?” she snarled.

Morrison huffed. “Where’s your helmet, Grey? Shouldn’t you be wearing a helmet? Maybe one of them fuckin’ puffy bomb outfits...”

“What is he doing?” Bea suddenly interrupted, taking a step toward the ATV.

The two men frowned, following her gaze.

Cain stood at the open back door where Taylor sat, shackled to the overhead roll bar. His pistol was in hand and he was aiming it at his completely subdued prisoner. For her part, Taylor almost looked serene, sitting there looking back at him.

“Cain...” Grey started, but stumbled to a stop when his man fired three times into the back seat.

Taylor jerked with each bullet.

“Cain, what the fuck!” Grey shouted, taking a running step.

But then Cain was turning his weapon toward him.

Bea tackled Grey from the side, taking him to the ground just as bullets passed where his head had been.

Morrison, a veteran of more than a few battles, was already yelling orders to his MPs who had been standing in shock at the whole scene. Snapping to in response to their General, the men rushed Cain, their own weapons drawn.

When Cain turned to fire at them, taking one in the leg, they both fired, killing him instantly.

After the rush of action, it seemed like every thing went silent. But then someone was shouting “Medic! Someone get a fuckin’ medic over here! We have wounded!”

Bea scrambled off of Grey, kneeing him in the process. “Sorry.” she offered, before spinning about and running for the ATV.

Inside she found a bloody mess. 

Taylor had taken all three bullets to the chest and she was pumping out blood everywhere as she hung from her shackles. Breaths were far in between and each one sent bubbling red foam from the bullet holes. Her lips moved and more blood painted her teeth and seeped from the corners of her mouth.

She was dying.

Despite her limit experience with of death in the real world, her only frames of reference calling for a vile of healing potion to boost her mana, Bea knew Taylor was dying.

But it wasn’t the dying that frightened her. It was the fact that she was staring at her mentor dying and she couldn’t really give a shit. In fact, it felt all rather.... distant.

Bea was about to turn away to look after more interesting things wen Taylor’s eyes fluttered open and she managed to croak something.

Frowning, the girl leaned closer. “What was that?” she wondered.

“Phil...” the dying woman gasped, blood spittle dotting her chin. “Phillup Prawn. That.... that’s his real... real n... name...”

Bea stared at her. “Who?” she asked.

Taylor coughed, choking on her own blood.

But the girl figured it out on her own. “Mr. Blond.” she concluded. When Taylor managed a bloody smile, Bea wondered “How do you know?”

“’Cause...” Taylor choked out. “That day.... when.... she saved... me.... he was... was in the ke... kennal beside me....” Her head rolled forward as a gurgling whistle escaped her chest.

A medic was suddenly there, moving Bea out of the way. He took a moment to inspect the body, but then looked out at Bea and shook his head.

But Bea was no longer thinking about Taylor. Her mind was working on someone new: Phil... Phillup Prawn!

Usually men took pity on another man they saw who was curled up after just having his junk smashed about. But Morrison was more than a little put off with the situation.

Snatching the Captain up by the scruff of the neck, he threw him into the arms of a pair of MPs who had arrived on the scene. “Just what the fuck was that all about, Grey? What the fuck did your man just do?” he roared.

“What the hell you asking me for?” Grey cried back. “Did you happen to notice the bullets he fired at me?!” The indignity of it was making the man wine. “I mean... what the fuck, man?! After everything we’d been through! And he goes and turns around and tries to kill me? What the fuck?!” He shrugged a little. “I mean, yea, he hadn’t been on my team for long, him and his partner, but, Christ! You’d think he’d have a little loyalty, you know... right?!”

“Partner?” Morrison stepped close, shoving his face so close to Grey’s their noses nearly touched. “What partner?”

Grey blinked at him. “Nathaniel... Cain and Nathaniel came on together, always partnered up. Kinda thought it was a little, you know, don’t ask, don’t tell sort of thing. But, hey, they got the job done, so what the hell, you know.”

The General snapped his fingers beside the man’s head. “Focus, you dumb shit!” he snapped. “Where the fuck is his partner?”

Again Grey blinked at him. “I had to leave our stake out to pick up Taylor. So I left him.”

“Where!” Morrison roared in his face.

“He’s following Dr. Fairway. The old man left town, looked like he was headed for Cairo.” Grey’s eyes narrowed as he started to actually think again. 

“Why were you following him?” Morrison demanded.

“I thought... yea, I thought he would lead us to Jenson.” Grey’s eyes went wide suddenly and he glanced back at the body of his man. “Why would they go after Taylor? That wasn’t revenge! That was an execution! He was snipping loose ends! He worked for Blond! And if Cain worked for Blond, then bets are...”

“Nathaniel does too!” the General snarled. “And he’s following the good Doctor right to the big prize!” 

0o0o0o0o0

Nathaniel drove pass the building the doctor had turned into. He recognized the black kid that opened the garage door for the new arrival.

Sargent Linwood ‘Pooch’ Porteous. Pilot, driver, grease monkey...

Not a threat.

Was definitely a good sign though.

Pulling over at the end of the next block where he could keep an eye on the building via his side mirrors, the DOD/traitor dialed up the man who really paid the bills. “Mr. Blond, sir.... yes, sir... I found him...”

o0o0o0o0o

Dr. Fairway had half expected his lavish loft to be a disaster after a week housing the five rough and tough men he had given sanctuary to. Instead, he found the place as prim and proper as ever. Hell, it even smelled of fresh baked... what was that?... Peanut Butter cookies?

“Roque?” he gasped in amused shock at the big man in the kitchen wearing an apron that said ‘TODAY’S MENU: TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT.’ “Are you baking?”

Roque dropped a tray of fresh from the oven cookies on the counter and frowned at the doctor. “No!” he snapped. “I’m wastin’ time ‘til my shows come on!” He paused before offering “Want a cookie?”

“Have a cookie, doc.” Clay encouraged from where he sat on a stool at the counter. “Turns out, when he ain’t spitting nails and joggling knives, he makes a pretty damn good house wife.”

The big man glared at his best friend, warning in a low growl “I will stab you in the face!”

Dr. Fairway tried very hard, yet failed, not to chuckle. “If you could hold off on stabbing one another until I’m done with our young Mr. Jenson. One patient at a time, if you please.”

Speaking of such...

Jenson was sitting on a cot in the open french doors, doing his very best to focus on the outside world, though his eyes flickered in the doctor’s general direction, betraying him. 

The boy was nervous. 

Fairway couldn’t blame him. Surely the kid wasn’t too thrilled with being touched, particularly by a stranger. There were a lot more traumas in the dark and evil world other than physical, and the kid had gone through most of them.

But he had a good bunch of friends around him to help him get through it. 

“Mi hermonito.” Cougar called as he rolled the wheel chair over.

Jenson’s answer was a glare.

“Cougar.” the doctor called after the sniper. “Think we could let Jake walk a little. Like to see how he’s moving” Fairway gave Jenson a reassuring smile. “If you don’t mind, Jake... Maybe we can go down to the clinic and have a look at you there.” He stepped back to the elevator and hit the door open button.

The kid hesitated, glancing at his Colonel almost suspiciously.

Clay just gazed back, calm, cool, and patiently waiting for his man to respond.

Poor Cougar stood in the middle, hands on the wheel chair, glancing from one then the other, as if waiting for a yea or nay.

“Or if you prefer to stay here...?” Fairway prodded. 

“No.” Jenson said a little too quickly. The kid pushed himself to his feet and practically dived into the elevator.

The doctor glanced at Clay.

The Colonel’s eyes narrowed, but he gave a slight nod. 

Fairway sighed and stepped back into the elevator. 

When the doors had closed and they were gone, Roque reached across the counter had set a beer beside Clay. “Look on the bright side.”

Clay turned to look at him with raised eyebrows. 

Roque shrugged. “Sure looks like he’s moving faster.”

Clay opened his mouth for a classic Loser retort that would have contained a large number of curse words. Then his cell interrupted him. Settling for a glare, he snatched up his phone. “Yea?”

“Boss,” came Pooch’s voice, “we got a visitor.”

0o0o0o0

Nathaniel leaned back so he could see the clinic’s front door through his passenger side mirror. 

The big guy...  
Captain William Roque: mean, violent, always armed, definitely a threat....  
... stepped out the front door and glanced about. He arched his back, stretching and yawning in the afternoon sun. Seemed to be enjoying the warmth, smiling at nothing, stretching and yawning and arching a whole lot more.

A lot more than expected. A lot more than big, mean, violent Captain Roque should be...

“Hey, buddy, how’s it hangin’?”

Nathaniel glanced up sharply to see the not-a-threat Pooch leaning against his driver’s door. “Oh, shi...” was all he got out before Pooch reached in, grabbed him, and slammed him, face first, into the horn of his steering wheel.

o0o0o0o

The exam went quickly, the doctor smoothly running experienced hands over healing wounds and yellow bruises. He took a little extra time moving Jenson’s shoulder, before ending at his feet. Dr. Fairway gently unwrapped his feet and inspected them. Through it all, he kept up a cheerful, one sided dialog, spotted here and there with questions.

Jenson’s answers were given in short, simple, monotone words strung together in barely recognizable sentences. He gave just enough information to shut the rambling up.   
That’s all he wanted.  
To shut the cheerful, country bumpkin prattle up!

And then he did.

When Dr. Fairway stopped talking, the quiet actually startled the young soldier. It was never good news when a chattery fella like the doc to go quiet. Jenson should know; he was a chattery fella.  
Or, at least he had been....  
... a long time ago.  
How long had it been now?  
A month?  
A year?  
An eternity?

Fairway laid a gentle hand over his patient’s ankle. When he spoke again, Jenson flinched at the sudden sound. “So.... How are you, Jake?”

Jenson frowned at him. “Thought that was your job, telling us what’s what.” 

The doctor smiled. He sat down on his stool, keeping his hand on his ankle as if just casually resting it there.

The hacker’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at that hand, touching him, holding him in place. 

Fairway explained “I can tell you that you are healing nicely, though I would like to see you put on more weight. I can tell you that, with a little more time, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to return to full duty. I can tell you that we can now start you on some light PT, getting the full motion back in your shoulder.” He paused to give his patient a fatherly look. “What I can’t tell you is how you, yourself, are doing.”

Jenson looked up at him again, suspiciously.

When he didn’t get an answer, the doctor offered a smile, an expression used a thousand times to calm the most unsettled of patients. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal. And, I understand, you don’t believe it’s completely over. You’re hurt. You’re angry.” He leaned forward slightly. “It’s alright, Jake. You can say what you like to me.”

Jenson sat very still for a moment before tilting his head to one side. “While you observe my pulse, Doctor?” he asked, his tone somewhere between accusation and amusement. 

Fairway flinched, his hand lifting from Jenson’s foot. “I... I...” he stuttered for an explanation. 

Jenson offered a slight smile. “It’s ‘kay, Doc. I get it.” Then the smile was gone. “Want to give the Colonel a full and complete counting of his poor, wounded, digital pitbull.” He nodded at the hand that floated just over his foot. “Go ahead, get your reading, get your answers. God knows, doesn’t pay to piss off his holier-than-thou, grand ol’ King of the Losers.”

“I doubt very much that he feels very king like.” the doctor offered, folding his hands together and resting them on his tablet on his lap, making a point of not touching the boy’s foot again. “In fact, I would say that Colonel Clay is feeling quite helpless and wounded himself.”

The young soldier raised one eyebrow in doubt.

Fairway sighed. He looked down at his hands, giving himself a moment to rethink his approach. When he looked up again, he asked “Your father was abusive?”

Jenson flinched.

The doctor nodded his head towards his patient. “The old scars, long ago mended bones...”

“Yea!” the kid snapped. “He was mean drunk, worse when he was sober.”

“Did you have a younger sibling?” Fairway asked.

Again the flinch. “Sister.” was the almost whispered response.

“Did you feel helpless, weak, damaged when your father went after your little sister? When you couldn’t protect her?”

Jenson looked away, muscles so tense there was a tremble in his jaw.

Fairway sighed again, setting aside his own anger and sadness at what horrors this poor kid had survived. “Then you know how Clay feels.”

He looked back at the doctor, his eyes narrowed, but in thought, not suspicion. 

Fairway tilted his head. “Jake, there are a lot of people pulling for you. Your brothers, your fellow techs back at the base, me... You have an army fighting for you! An army going to war to protect you!” He leaned forward. “All those people pulling for you... And you still don’t think you can be saved?”

Jenson stared at him. He opened his mouth, but snapped it shut again when there was a knock on the door.

Pooch stuck his head in. “Sorry, doc, but.... well, you all done in here? We could use the room.”

The doctor rose to his feet. “We’re done here.... But, why...”

Jenson was already sliding off the bed and pulling on his shirt. “They found me.” he said without needing a hint.

Pooch looked at him a little alarmed. The plan had been to keep the kid in the dark, protect him, hide him away, keep him safe... Yea, like J ever played anything by the rules. 

“Jake, perhaps we should go on up stairs.” Fairway hurriedly suggested, taking his patient by the arm.

But Jenson pulled free. “Pooch, where are they?” he wanted to know.

“You got nothing to worry about, J.” Pooch assured. “We got this. Just go on up stairs...”

“Pooch!” Jenson snapped. 

“Jenson, get up stairs! Now!” Clay ordered as he and Roque walked Nathaniel in.

Again Fairway took Jenson’s arm, but the boy didn’t move, his eyes locked on the prisoner. 

In turn, Nathaniel’s eyes locked on his target. He smiled over bloody teeth. “Well, there he is, our pretty, little boy-o.” He chuckled. “Whole world’s been looking for you.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Roque snarled, shoving the man against the far wall.

Jenson glanced at Clay. “But... he’s DOD...?”

“Jenson, last time: Up stairs!” Clay snapped, moving to block his view of their prisoner.

“J, man, come on.” Pooch quickly slid pass Fairway to take over his hold on Jenson’s arm. “Let’s go attack the cheese puffs before Cougar figures out we found them.” He tugged until his friend finally began to follow.

Jenson was almost out the door when Nathaniel called after him “He’s coming for you, boy-o! Mr. Blond’s gonna get his brilliant beauty!”

Jenson stopped breathing. 

Nathaniel braved Roque’s wraith when pushed back against his hold and continued in a lewd purr “Bet you can feel him now, can’t you? Laying claim, marking his property... You know Mr. Blond don’t never lose money on a deal! He’s gonna take you back and anyone come between him and you’s gonna be left dead! You know it!”

Roque’s fist ended anything else the man might have to say.

“J...?” Pooch tried to tug Jenson along, but the kid had frozen in place, wide eyes staring at nothing.

Clay glanced from Roque’s roughing up Nathaniel to Jenson’s frozen form. “Damn it.” he cursed under his breath. This was exactly what he had wanted to avoid! With a shake of his head, he slid up to Jenson’s side. “Jake,” he spoke softly, “Jake, look at me.” He took him by the chin and turned his head until those wide eyes were looking at him. “Breath.”

His kid swallowed like he was trying to force a watermelon down. But then he took a deep breath and blinked once, twice, as if blinking away a bad dream.

Clay tilted his head toward the door. “Go up stairs and I’ll be up in a few to fill you in.”

Jenson watched him for a moment, searching for something in his leader’s expression. Finally, he sighed, dropping his eyes. He gave a slight nod before pushing pass Pooch.

The Sargent glanced at his Colonel then, getting an affirmative nod, hurried after.

Before Fairway followed, Clay asked “Doc?”

The doctor glanced at him. “He’s getting there.” he answered. “You and the boys... you’re his strength. As long as he can draw from that...” Fairway shrugged. But then he looked pass Clay to where Roque was slamming a battered Nathaniel up against the wall again. “Do I need to be concerned about what you intend to do in this room designed for healing?”

“No worries, doc.” Roque assured. “We just gonna heal this young man’s idea of loyalty and duty.”

Fairway raised one eyebrow. “I’m sure.”

Clay gave a crooked smile. “Doctor Fairway, trust me?” he asked.

“You, yes. Roque... well...” The doctor almost smirked himself. “Alright. I do understand necessity, so... WHEN you need me, call for me.” When Cougar stepped into the room, sharp eyes already hunting out Nathaniel, Fairway groaned. “I don’t trust him either!” he warned Clay, shaking a finger at the already snarling sniper. But then he was gone, letting them do what needed to be done.

0o0o0o0o0


	20. Chapter Twenty

0o0o0o0o0

Chapter Twenty

o0o0o0o0o

Jenson paced, an action that looked more like a wobble with his limp.

“Come on, man.” Pooch groaned, wincing with every step. “Have a seat. Have a cookie. Have a cheese puff!” He offered up his prized bag.

The hacker ignored him. “Can’t.” he mumbled to himself. “Can’t do this. Can’t can’t, can’t...”

“Hey, J, man, give the feet a break, will ya?” Pooch pleaded. “We just got those puppies up and running! Don’t want to wear them out already, do ya?”

Jenson ran his fingers through his hair. “Damn it, damn, damn, damn...”

Fairway raised an eyebrow at the scene as he stepped out of the elevator. “Boys.” he greeted as he watched Jenson pace pass.

Pooch practically leaped off his stool to meet the doctor. “Hey, doc, you got something that might, you know, cool his jets a bit... in case we really gotta settle him down...?”

Fairway frowned at the mechanic, but was quickly distracted as Jenson wobbled pass again. “You want to sedate him?”

“Want, no. But, doc...” Pooch waved a hand at his friend. “You telling me this is healthy?”

The doctor watched a moment longer as Jenson tugged on his ear, mumbling to himself, arguing with himself. Fairway sighed. “No, it isn’t.” He set his bag on the arm of the couch and rummaged around in it. “Jake.” he called to his patient. “Can you come and have a seat with me.” he encouraged. “Tell me what you can’t do.”

“I can’t do this!” Jenson snapped, like he had been over this a million times. 

“Do what? Have a seat? Wait for Clay?” Fairway smiled at the boy. “What’s so hard about that?”

Jenson stopped his pacing, his eyes snapping around to glare at him. “I’m not waiting for Clay!”

Pooch frowned. Crossing his arms over his chest, trying to look stern, he wanted to know “What do you mean you’re not waiting for Clay? What are you going to do?” He even tried tapping his foot, making the whole scene a bit more ludicrous than he had been hoping for. What’s a whole new worry tossed on a pile already way too high?!

Jenson rolled his eyes at him. 

Fairway smiled. He dropped his bag on the end table and sat on the arm of the couch. “You’re not out of your head.” he observed. “So, you can sit down and tell me what you can’t do.” He waved a hand to the couch across from him.

The hacker turned his rolling eyes on the doctor. “Fuck you if you think I’m gonna lay back on Freud’s couch for a lookie into the ol’ brain pan!”

“Jenson!” Pooch reprimanded.

“Jake...” Fairway started.

“I know they’ll fight for me! Protect me!” Jenson yelled at him.

“Damn straight!” Pooch agreed, crossing his arms over his chest again, bobbing his head proudly.

“And you’ll fuckin’ die! Again!” Jenson snapped at Pooch. Then he turned back to Fairway, explaining “For me! I’m already gone! And they’re fuckin’ well gonna kamikaze down the rabbit hole right after me!”

“J!” Pooch threw his hands in the air. “We didn’t die!” He crossed the room to grab his friend by the arm, jerking him around to face him. “J, man, we’re not gonna die! And you’re not gone!” he swore. His voice dropped and he leaned close. “Man, you gotta believe in us... gotta have faith... gotta have hope...” 

“Hope.” Jenson hissed as if the very word burned. “Hope is the worse torture of all.”

“Jake...” Pooch groaned, but was a loss for words. 

Pooch’s cell phone began to vibrate off the counter and into the kitchen sink, distracting everyone for a breath.

Jenson pulled his arm free and dropped down onto the couch, looking like a man on the verge of losing everything.

“J...” Pooch tried again, but, when no words came to mind, he escaped to answer his phone.

Dr. Fairway leaned forward. “Jake...”

Jenson looked up at him. “You can’t save everyone.” he warned softly. “You can’t save me.”

The doctor gave him that comforting smile. “Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.” he warned back. “Doesn’t mean they...” he jerked his head toward Pooch, “... shouldn’t try.”

The boy’s tone turned pleading, begging even: “They’ll die!”

Fairway sighed. 

“Hot damn!” Pooch suddenly hooted, tossing the phone on the counter. “Little sister has come through!”

Jenson looked back at him. “What?”

Pooch practically bounced with excitement. “Bea, our little girl, she weaseled out a name on...” He hesitated, suddenly remembering who he was talking to. He glanced at the doctor, then back. Shaking a finger in the air, he decided “You know... I gotta run down stairs real quick.” Pooch looked at Fairway again. “You got this, doc, for just a few?”

“We’re fine. Go do what you have to.” Fairway assured.

Pooch chewed on his lip for another moment, before spinning about and running down the stairs.

Jenson’s eyes narrowed as he stared at his friend’s exit.

Fairway frowned at his expression. Same way those sharp eyes had stared at the hand measuring the pulse as it rested on his foot. Kid saw things, made connections faster than the average GI Joe.

So... distraction!

Slapping his hands down on his legs, Fairway wondered “Didn’t Pooch mention something about cheese puffs?” He rose to his feet and made his way to the kitchen. “Oh, and I have been longing to try Roque’s cookies! Do you like milk with yours?” When he didn’t get an answer, he looked over his shoulder. “Jake?”

The boy’s head snapped about. “Huh?”

“Milk with your cookies?” Fairway asked, then invited with a wave of his hand “Come join me in here.” When he saw Jenson rise to his feet, he turned back to the cupboards. “How about chocolate milk? Nothing like chocolate milk and peanut butter cookies.” He pulled down two glasses, before turning around to come suddenly nose to nose to Jenson. “Oh!”

“Sorry, doc.” Jenson breathed, his hand coming up with the syringe from Fairway’s bag and injecting the doctor at the base of his neck.

“Jake, what... are... you....” Fairway gasped, but the sedative was already dragging him down. The dose had been for a young man half his age, twice his strength.

Jenson grabbed his shirt front and lowered him to the floor. “You don’t get it. They don’t get it.” he explained. “Mr. Blond will never stop coming for me. He will kill everyone of you just to make sure I know....” He sighed, dropping his chin to his chest and closing his eyes against the horror of the thought. “I can’t! I just can’t let them die for me!” He looked at the doctor. “So, I’m leaving. Don’t worry. I’ll find Mr. Blond before he finds you guys. I’ll make him end this! I’ll give him no choice but to kill me! Then... then no more pain, no more fear, no more anything... and no one else has to die!”

Fairway tried to protest, tried to stop him, grab for him. But he could no longer lift his arms or even shake his head no. “Jake...” he managed to gasp through lips that didn’t seem to want to cooperate. “Please.... don’t go....” he whispered before his eye lids became too heavy to keep up any longer and he sank down against the kitchen cabinet.

“Sweet dreams, doc. Look after the boys for me.” Jenson said with a farewell pat to his leg.

0o0o0o0

Clay leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his gray eyes dissecting their prisoner from across the room.

Nathaniel was sprawled in the office chair under the unwavering glare from Roque and the constant snarl from the deadly Cougar. He didn’t bother spitting out the blood any longer. Just let it dribble down the edge of his chin. Three of his fingers were at odd angles, the result of a not-so-wise strike at Roque’s iron jaw. His two missing teeth were further evidence of the bad planning on that move.

Cougar was barely restraining himself, enraged equally at the DOD and Blond for their treatment of his best friend. And, here, before him, was an apparent representative of both. So enraged, the sniper could easily slip into murderous habits. A simple command from his Colonel was all that stopped him.

The call from General Morrison had warned them about who was Nathaniel’s true employer, but that seemed to just add a whole lot more questions. And there was no threat that seemed to could seem to pry any answers from their captive. Clay was beginning to wonder if he really had any more information. Blond was a master manipulator and, if Taylor had been telling the truth, the Doctor was even more so.

“Must suck.” Nathaniel actually chuckled, leaning more towards the insane than a mere puppet. 

Clay’s eyes narrowed. 

“I mean, bub, weren’t you, like, all into that? You and Taylor?” Nathaniel humphed. “Bangin’ the enemy while she sold everyone’s favorite toy to the highest bidder. Like that little red haired girl in preschool that sharred her carrot stick while snatching away your cookie. Oh, even better...”

Roque’s fist doubled the man over. Ignoring the coughing and gasping, he looked at his friend. “We really got a reason for holding on to this asshole?” he wanted to know. 

Clay scratched his chin in thought. He waited until Nathaniel looked up at him again, still trying to catch his breath. “You know, when you were just another one of Gray’s DOD flunkies, I was just gonna tie you up until we were long gone and clear. But, nope.” Clay leaned forward, and shook a finger at the man. “You betrayed Gray.”

“Not that we’re gonna hold that against you.” Roque mumbled.

“Betrayed your country!” Clay snapped, throwing his Captain a glare. “Betrayed your fellow American! And that! That is something I just can’t let go.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “Oh, for the glory of the grand ol’ Red, White, and Blue!”

Clay rolled his eyes. “Roque...”

A big, heavy, black fist slammed across the prisoner’s jaw, snapping his head about.

Cougar actually snarled a little, seemingly upset at not getting to hit the target a time or two... or six... twelve...

Crossing his arms over his chest, Clay waited for Nathaniel to shake his head head clear, blinking up at him again. “You work for Blond.” 

It wasn’t a question.  
It wasn’t an accusation.  
It was a simple statement of fact.

Nathaniel’s jaw worked, but he kept him mouth shut.

“Your partner’s dead. Taylor’s dead. You are certainly out of the game.” Clay tilted his head to one side. “How far out is yet to be determined.” He paused to glance at Roque. “Who’s left?”

Nathaniel leaned so far forward that Roque dropped a hand on his shoulder. He gave Clay a bloody grin. “All the important people.” he assured in a near purr.

Clay straightened up, his eyes narrowing again as he studied the bloody man. “Important people.” he mumbled to himself, disliking the sound of the words. The Colonel glanced at his men, one then the other, both mad as hell, both deadly as rattlers, but both waiting, steadily loyal and trusting in his command. He looked at Nathaniel again. “Roque, lock him up good. We’ll leave him for the General. Cougar, get the boys. We’re clearing out. Now!”

Cougar was out the door in half a breath, the only thing he wanted more than beating Nathaniel’s head in was getting Jenson away safe and sound. 

Clay was nearly out the door when Roque grabbed his arm. 

“Frank...?” he started in a low voice, more than a little concerned with Clay’s sudden drop and run attitude. 

Clay glanced one more time at Nathaniel before looking up at his long time friend. “Take a good look at him, Roque. That isn’t a paid for man. Neither was Cain! He went after Taylor on a suicide mission! That’s fanatics, believers!”

“Believers in the Slave Trade?” Roque huffed.

Clay shook his head. “I don’t get it either. But they got Taylor when she was a kid. And she was just short of fanatic herself! She would have to be to go through basic and officer training and whatever ass kicking it takes to get entrusted to babysit the nerd herd. If their core is made up of men they all but raised, if this is all they know...”

The big man suddenly understood. “Then we’re five guys butting heads with the slave trades version of Al Qaeda.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his head. “And that’s gonna hurt.”

“Hurt a hell of a lot more with one wounded, not-exactly-stable man.” Clay shook his head again. “Lock him up. Then we’re running! Taking Fairway with us. He’s got a target on him now too.”

“Oh, lucky doc. Officially one of the Losers now.” Roque grumbled before returning back to their prisoner.

“Yea, lucky doc.” Clay mumbled himself. He made it to the foot of the stairs before Pooch nearly jumped down on him from the third step.

“Boss!” he greeted with an excited puppy dog yipe.

“Down, boy!” Clay shushed with an upraised hand.

Pooch actually pouted. But that lasted only breath, before he was blurting out “Bea called! She found Blond! Well, not physically. But the real Blond! His real name I mean! She’s hunting him down now. Well, not physically, but, you know, that computer stuff they do....”

“Pooch!” Clay snapped, grabbing him by the arms. “Calm down!”

The mechanic stopped and blinked at him.

The Colonel almost smirked. With a sigh, he released him. “Jenson’s been out of sorts for too long. You’re starting to pick up his traits.”

Pooch pouted again. “That’s just mean, Clay.” But he smiled anyway. “We can hunt him in the real world, Clay. Bea’s already found accounts and cyber footprints.”

“Right now we’re getting out of here. Did you see Cougar?”

Pooch started to nod, but was pushed aside as Cougar appeared from the stairs.

“He’s gone!” he snarled.

Clay stiffened. “What do you mean gone?”

o0o0o0o

With a tablet tucked under his arm, Jenson focused on the cell phone. His fingers actually shook with the forbidden tech in his hands again, his breath caught, sweat dotted his brow. Like a junkie without his fix for far too long. For a moment he was so afraid he’d drop it that his fingers tightened around the black device, the corners digging into the palm of his hand.

A flash caught his eye and he flinched away just in time to avoid bumping into a woman pulling a shopping cart filled with mall bags. 

She looked up at him and offered a smile. 

Jenson stumbled an embarrassed “Sorry.”

Another smile, followed by a bob of the head as she continued on her way.

For a moment the young soldier just watched her, perplexed at how normal she seemed. Like she had no idea that men were hunting each other, torturing, brutalizing, selling their fellow human beings. Like she had no idea that she had nearly just bumped into a dead man. Just another day coming home from the mall...

Mall?

Jenson glanced down the road. Several blocks down traffic thickened, crowds grew, and digital billboards rose up in the sky around a busy mall.

A destination!  
A plan!  
A goal!

With a tap he called the last caller as he headed for the mall.

“Hey, Pooch, didn’t expect to hear from...”

“Bea, right?” Jenson interrupted the voice on the line.

There was a pause. “J?”

He actually smiled, a flash of pink camouflage and oversized combat boots coming to mind. Her worgan with the killer pet battle moves when they played WOW. How she was the only one who could come close to him when they played hack wars. How she always had that cute stream of curses when she lost...

No cute thoughts!  
No favorite memories!  
No hopes for tomorrow!

“Hey, Bea. I need a favor.” he hurried on, pushing the image out of his mind. 

“Yea, J, anything.... where’s Pooch?”

“Bathroom. Little bladder. It’s embarrassing. The favor?”

She hesitated and he knew she was too smart to believe him for long. Sweet and cute didn’t mean gullible.

“Bea, that name you got Pooch.... what was it again?” Jenson pushed.

“Prawn. Pillup Prawn. The real Mr. Blond.” She whistled. “You know, for all the hiding Mr. Blond’s done, Pillup Prawn practically broadcasts his well-to-do normal life. I mean... electric and phone bills, freaking hulu accounts... wanna know his favorite tv show? Impressive bank account kept nicely padded by cooperations owned by dummy proxies...”

“Bea! The favor!” he had to interrupted again.

Again the hesitation. “Hey, J? Where are you? Sounds like you’re outside.”

Again Jenson smiled. “Bea... you tracking me?” he wondered.

“J... where’s the boys?”

“The favor, Bea.”

Damn, she hesitated a lot. Always trying to figure out what the right thing. 

“Okay, J. What do you need?”

“You’re tracking me right? Got the mall in my vicinity? I need the security codes for the digital billboards.”

“Digital billboards? J, what are you doing?”

“Bea, please. That’s all I’m asking. I’d do it, but I’ve got limited ram and I gotta set the bomb.”

“Bomb?!”

“Bea! Please!”

“Alright! I’ll do it. But, Jenson, please don’t do anything stupid. We just got you back.”

“There wasn’t anything left to get back.” Jenson mumbled.

“What?”

“Thanks, Bea. You’re the best.” This time it was Jenson who hesitated. “Hey, Bea, one more thing...?”

“Anything, J.”

“The guys like you. You’re a good fit for the Losers. They’re gonna need a good field tech.” he said almost softly.

“Why? J, why?”

He tapped the phone off. He didn’t have time to chat. He had to get moving! He had to get far enough away from the Losers that, when Mr. Blond came for him, they would be safe.

Safe and alive.

o0o0o0o

Clay glared out the open french door. “Fuckin’ little monkey did it!” 

Pooch glanced up at him from where he stood over the groggy Dr. Fairway on the couch.

The Colonel shrugged. “Swan dive out the second story window.” he explained with a wave of his hand. He frowned and pulled up the sheet twisted into a rope. “Well, spider climb out the second story window.”

“His shoulder and feet?” Pooch shook his head. “Must have hurt like hell. Little creep! Should have knocked him out cold!” He looked up at Clay. “I’m sorry, boss. I shouldn’t have left him...”

Clay pushed away from the window. “He would have found away. Kid’s smarter than all of us put together. I should have seen this coming.” 

“Clay!” Roque called as he came in from down stairs, phone in hand. “Bea’s got him! Cougar’s already on his trail!”

The Colonel pointed at the doctor and told Pooch “Get him packed up and ready to go. Soon as we get him back, we’re outta here!” Then he followed Roque back out the door.

0o0o0o0

Mr. Blond sat in the comfortable back seat of his air conditioned sedan, one leg crossed over the other, a long necked wine glass in one hand, the other holding a phone to his ear. “Excellent, excellent. Best news. Keep me updated.” When he handed the phone to Mr. Pink, he gave such a satisfied smile the Cheshire Cat would have been jealous. “Our camera watchers have spotted him. Seems we’re going to the mall.”

o0o0o0o0o0o


	21. Chapter Twentyone

o0o0o0o0o0o

Chapter Twenty-One

0o0o0o0o0o0

He wrapped his arms tightly around himself like a coat of armor against the crowds mulling about. He hadn’t expected that, the heart gripping stab of fear every time someone brushed pass his arm or waved to a friend or hurried by from behind or spoke up near him or answered a phone or clicked heals on the tiled ground or whistled or laughed or hollered at a misbehaving kid or offered free samples or dropped a shopping bag or... 

Anything!   
Everything!   
A flicker of light, a movement of shadow, a sound...

Jensen tucked himself back in the alcove he had spent the last... what had it been... five? Ten? Thirty minutes? 

No, even half out of his wits, it would never have taken one Corporal Jake Jensen thirty minutes to tie that tablet into the security line for the billboards. It wouldn’t have taken him five minutes if it wasn’t for all the flinching and hiding and distractions.

The mall’s security, considering the day and age, was surprisingly lacking. Sure they had cameras everywhere, more than a few Jensen had taken the time out to be sure he had been seen on. But they were counting all on eyeballing trouble verses armed guards actually discouraging trouble. They were more interested in catching after the crime, than preventing it. 

Which suited Jensen’s plans just fine. He didn’t need anyone to intervene. Didn’t want anyone to intervene. Didn’t want anyone else...  
... no one else...  
... please...

And there he was!  
Standing in the center of the large cobblestone pavilion, surrounded by shoppers making their way this and that, looking the nearly the same as the day they met for the exception of the patch over one eye and Cougar’s canvas hat, was Mr. Pink, staring right at him.

Jensen’s chest tightened so suddenly he thought that he had died right then and there. It wasn’t until he realized that he was still thinking that he gave up on that last and final hope. 

Hope!   
The worse of tortures!  
A torture he does to himself!

“Mi hermanito, ¿qué estás haciendo?”

Jensen fell back as if struck, falling against the wall.

Cougar came around the corner of the alcove, blocking any escape. He held his hands up as if assuring him that he wasn’t going to hurt his best friend, his little brother. 

Like Cougar could ever hurt Jensen!  
Worse!  
Jensen would hurt him!  
Jensen would get him killed!

“No, no, no, no...” Jensen whimpered, sliding down the wall until he was sitting on the ground. He dropped his face in his hands, shaking his head. “What are you doing here?! Go away! Go away! Go away!”

“No, hermanito...” Cougar dropped down in front of him. “I am here for you. I will not go away without you!” 

“You can’t be here! You have to go!” Jensen tried to push him away. “GO! NOW!”

But Cougar was unmovable, a solid rock against even the worse of storms. “Por favor, Jake... mi hermanito... Come with me.... please...” he breathed. He tried to take Jensen’s hands.

Jensen slapped his hands away. “No! Go! Away! Now!” He tried to take a swing, tried to drive his best friend away.

Cougar caught him by the wrists. “Jake, no! Stop it! I will not leave mi hermonito! Nunca! Never!”

Jensen tried to jerk his hands free, but his friend was not about to let go. So, he leaned forward and hissed in Cougar’s face “I am not your brother!”

The sniper flinched.

Jensen’s heart suddenly tore. “Please, Cougs.... por favor... vete por favor...” he practically cried. “Go away...”

“And miss all the fun, pretty boy?” came a voice behind Cougar.

Jensen whimpered, closing his eyes. 

Cougar stiffened. “Mi hermanito, no te muevas. Stay!” he commanded before releasing Jensen’s wrists. Then he was moving, viper fast, spinning about, coming up, fists striking out.

Mr. Pink jumped back, out of reach of the sniper’s sharp fists. Chuckling, the big man pretended to dust himself off. “Well, wasn’t that just a wee bit showy.” He eyed Cougar with a smile before shaking a finger at him. “You’re that guy, right? What they call you? Kitty? Pussy?” He snapped his fingers. “That’s it! Pussy! You’re the Loser’s Pussy!”

Cougar stood silent, narrow eyes watching every breath, every move, every hair of his target.

Pink turned to the side, tilting his head one way then the other, sizing him up. “What? Cat got your tongue?” He barked a laugh. “How does that work? Cat’s got Pussy’s tongue?” He leaned to the side, looking around Cougar. “Hey, little beauty? You’re so fuckin’ smart. How’s that work?”

Cougar leaned to the side, blocking his view. He nodded up at the top of the big man. “That’s mi hat.” he said softly.

Pink faced off with the sniper. Touching a finger to the brim, he asked “What? This ol’ thing?” he sneered. “Got this off a dead man.” He smirked. “You sayin’ you’re a dead man, Pussy? Well, now, maybe I should just put you in the ground, where all dead men belong.”

Cougar smiled, a cold, deadly expression. Dark, cunning eyes gleamed and muscles flexed with power obscured by his slender build.

Mr. Pink had no trouble recognizing a dangerous man when he saw one. He stepped back, out into the open space of the pavilion, giving himself room.

“Cougs!” Jensen hissed. “Just go! Please!”

Cougar was too good to glance back at his friend, to take his eyes off his adversary. He only allowed himself one word: “Stay!” Then he stepped out into the open to meet Pink.

“Here, kitty, kitty.” Pink taunted as he backed further out into the open, the crowd parting to move around what they instinctively sense as a bad scene.

The sniper followed him out, his hands flexing at his sides. But he cold when he was only a few feet away from Pink.

The big man’s eyes flickered to one side.

Cougar leaped to the side, spinning about to face the attack from a goon coming at him from behind.

A pair of equally large men came at the Loser from either side of the entrance of the alcove. They each were armed with brass knuckles and hard blackjacks, and dressed just like Mr. Pink, except one tank top was blue, the other red. 

Blue rushed after Cougar as he leaped back, avoiding a swing from Red.

A woman in the crowd screamed at the sudden violence and the crowd began to surge in any and all directions that lead away from the fight.

Cougar spun, a sharp fist striking out under Blue’s swinging blackjack, catching the man in the solar plexus.

Air exploded from Blue’s lips and he stumbled back, wrapping his arms around his chest. 

Knowing that would only keep the man off for a moment, Cougar spun off to meet Red, slapping down a brass knuckled fist with the palm of one hand while bring the edge of his other down on Red’s forearm.

Red’s hand went numb, dropping his blackjack. But the man was too used to winning to let a fallen weapon discourage him. He jumped back and kicked out at the sniper.

Cougar twisted, letting the foot fly pass.

Blue, recovered, was back, swinging his blackjack at Cougar’s shoulder.

“No!” Jensen yelled, slamming into Blue and sending him stumbling off balanced into the crowd.

“Don’t touch the beauty!” Pink roared, stepping into the brawl. 

Red kicked high at Cougar, and again the sniper twisted, letting the foot fly pass his head. But this time he caught the limb by the ankle. The sniper brought his elbow down in Red’s knee.

A crack and a scream told the Loser Red was done. Even if he did still have fight in him, he wasn’t much of threat with a broken knee. Cougar tossed him away and turned to find the others.

Jensen was bringing his arm up, blocking a swing from Blue. 

But Blue was bigger, stronger, and quicker than the busted up Loser. He was already swinging down on the boy with his brass knuckles, a blow that could easily crack the skull it was aimed at.

Cougar snarled, lowering his head and starting his charge.

Pink grabbed Jensen by the collar and pulled him back and out of reach of his counter part. “I said, you deaf fucktard, don’t touch the little beauty! He belongs to Mr. Blond!” He jerked Jensen close to him. “Well, ‘cept maybe a couple more toes. What’s left on you bill, you remember? Is it two toes? Maybe I should take a third just for makin’ me wait for payment.”

Jensen slammed an elbow back, but Pink easily caught it and shoved back. 

“Behave, pigskin, or things are gonna get a lot worse a lot quicker.” Pink hissed in Jensen’s ear while he dropped a big hand on his captive’s hurt shoulder and squeezed.

The hacker cried out, twisting, trying to escape the grip.

“Get your maldito hands off him!” Cougar growled, fists doubling up. 

Pink glanced at the sniper. “Mr. Blue, will you please shoot this little pussy?”

Blue was already stepping towards his foe, a revolver coming up.

Viper fast, Cougar dropped to a crouch, his own gun materializing in his hands and firing.

Blue snapped back, his shot going wild as he fell to the ground.

Until that moment, the crowd had been satisfied with simply keeping their distance, staying out of reach of the flying fists, minding their own business. But then the gun shots echoed through the pavilion. Panic took hold of the crowd, a mob mentality that turned normal, every day shoppers into a stampede of maddened beasts just running for the sake of running. 

A woman bumped into Pink. 

Mr. Pink responded instinctively, sending her flying away with a vicious back hand.

Jensen grabbed at Pink’s outstretched arm, digging his fingers in his forearm.

“Ouch, you fuckin’ little bitch!” Pink roared, throwing the hacker to the ground. He leaped after, kicking at the downed boy.

“Cabron!” Cougar snarled, twisting in his crouch, gun coming up.

But the press of panicked people pushed between them, blocking his view. 

“¡Maldición!” the sniper cursed, throwing himself through the thong. 

Pink grabbed for Jensen again, but he was knocked back again by another pedestrian.

Jensen scrambled back until he was in the clear. Scrambling to his feet, he glanced about, trying to find Cougar. 

The shoppers were starting to head in a signal direction, heading for the parking lot, starting to clear the pavilion. 

“Little Beauty! Where the hell you think you’re going?” Pink roared, pedestrians flinching away from the enraged giant. Big hands flexing, he started after his target. “You owe me! I’m gonna take my dues! Half my eyes for half your toes! Remember? Got my sheers right here!” He waved a hand at the crowd Cougar was just finally getting clear of. “And then I’m gonna skin me a little Pussy! Always liked me a fur rug...”

“Humph. Talker, ain’t we?!” Roque’s fist suddenly wrapped around Pink’s throat. With a running step, he threw Pink back and down, slamming him with bone breaking force on the ground. Pinning him down by the throat, Roque leaned over the man and demanded “Like to talk it up, don’t you? Like to chit chat about torturing kids? Cutting up their feet? Wanna try fuckin’ with me, little man?”

Pink swung a fist up, but Roque caught it with his free hand and gave it a bone wrenching twist. The big Loser dropped, landing his whole weight on one knee in the middle of Pink’s chest.

The captured man’s eye widened, his ribs snapped, his wrist broken, his arm dislocated. His mouth opened to scream, but the grip around his throat tightened, trapping any sound within. 

Roque leaned forward, bring his face down close to the dying man below. “You fuckin’ asshole! You stole our kid! You fucked him up! And, now, you fuckin’ well try again?” He leaned his weight on Pink’s throat, watching his face turn red, eye bulge, feeling bones crack and brake under his weight. “He was a kid, goddamn you! A sweet, innocent kid!”

“Roque!” Cougar yelled a warning as another pair of thugs appeared through the crowd, this time Green and Purple. He fired over his Captain’s head, killing Purple before he could get close enough to cause any trouble.

Roque leaned harder, focused solely on crushing the life out of Mr. Pink.

Jensen watched as Cougar leaped over the two men to put himself between the distracted Rogue and the advancing bad guys. “No, no, no.” he breathed, his chest tightening in panic. 

This wasn’t right!  
This was all wrong!  
This isn’t what he wanted!  
Only he was supposed to die!  
Not Cougar!  
Not Roque!  
Not...

Where was Clay?

Jensen’s eyes darted about, searching the pavilion and the panicked crowd at the edge, searching for his Colonel. 

And then he saw him.  
Not Clay!  
Mr. Blond!

Sitting on a stone bench, one leg crossed over his knee, hands folded together in his lap, smiling at the whole scene as if watching children play, was Mr. Blond. Sitting at his side, clutching her medical bag to her chest, eyes wide with fear, was the Doctor.

Jensen stared for what seemed like forever before Blond finally looked at him. The evil creature flashed him that Great White smile, and Jensen felt the pull all the way from across the pavilion. Despite the sudden stopping of his heart, Jensen commanded his feet to move, forcing them to take one step than another toward his final destination.

“Jensen!” Cougar yelled, but yet another pair of colors appeared from the crowd.

Jensen crossed the pavilion until he was only a few yards away from the Beast. He wasn’t sure if it had been his decision to stop or his feet simply refused to go any further.

Mr. Blond seemingly floated to his feet. He spread his arms as if welcoming home a favorite son. “My Brilliant Beauty, you have returned to me.” he greeted lovingly. He took a step toward him.

Jensen took a step back, his fingers snatching at his pockets, digging, searching for his... what? Hope?

Mr. Blond purred and cooed like a kitten as he took another step closer. “Oh, my poor, little thing. I know, I know. They took you in the night. You had no choice. I’m sure you fought, but, alas, we love your for your brilliant mind, and not your brawn.” Another step. “But you have returned to me. You know where you belong. Who you belong to.”

“No one owns me!” Jensen managed to grind out through clenched teeth, his fingers wrapping around the weapon in his pocket. The weapon that will, finally, force Blond to end this sick nightmare, to end it all!

“My, my. So far you have risen.” Blond raised an eyebrow as he took another step. “So much further to fall.” He held his hand out to his prize. “Come with me now, and all is forgiven.” He gave him that Great White shark smile. “Don’t you wish me to stay?”

Jensen’s gut twisted and surged, filling his throat with bile, as he remembered those hands on him. Worse than all the torture was those hands, laying claim, making him his! 

That shark came even closer. “Oh, what pressure you must be under. Perhaps we should take a little time and release some of that...” He reached out for him, but stopped with a frown. “What is that?” he wondered.

Jensen held up Pooch’s phone in his hand. “Remember what I told you? If you ever put a computer in my hands again?” This time it was he who leaned forward. “I... will.... destroy... you!” He hit the call button.

Another phone rang.  
Then another.  
And another.

Around the pavilion, from the crowds of shoppers now scattered about the parking lot and hiding behind news stands and magazine racks and shop windows, came the ring tones of near a hundred phones. 

Mr. Blond spun about, frowning at the noise.

And then the digital billboards flashed bright red alert notices. 

Blond turned his head up to look at the largest.

Suddenly the screen was being filled with pictures, addresses, account numbers, and much more. It ran like a list beside a giant WANTED poster displaying an image of Mr. Blond above the name “Prawn, Phillup.”

Blond’s eyes widened as he stepped away.

“INTERPOL, FBI, MI-7, CIA, SIS, ILEA... and a whole lot more of the alphabet is now receiving this information.” Jensen told the man. “Hell, even the Canadian Mounted Police is getting a copy. Not to mention...” Jensen waved a hand at the crowds that had calmed down long enough to look at their phones. “Every one of them now knows who and what you are!”

As if on cue, came a cried accusation from the crowd “Slaver!” and another “Child thief!”

Jensen stood a little taller. 

Mr. Blond stared in wide eyed horror for a moment. Then his entire demeanor changed. All his highborn appearance seemed to melt away, his elegance fading. When he smiled at Jensen this time there was no predatory threat. Just a simple, relieved smile.

This was no longer Mr. Blond.  
This was Pillup Prawn.

Jensen hesitated.

“You did warn me, didn’t you.” Prawn spoke, his voice cracking. “So... it is over... finally.” He dropped his arms to his sides and tilted his head back until he was looking straight up at the sky. “Finally.... free....”

A gun shot blasted through the pavilion again and the front of Pillup Prawn’s head exploded.

Again the crowd screamed and scattered.

Jensen stood, staring down at the vile villain that seemed so utterly harmless now. Then he looked up to the woman who held the gun, still aimed at Blond. “Dr. Who.” he breathed, a rush of relief filling his chest. “It’s okay, now, Doc. You’re safe! You’re free! You’re...” He stopped when she raised the weapon to air at him. “Dr. Who? What...?”

Like Blond, her entire demeanor had changed. No longer did she keep her eyes down cast, no longer did she look like the beaten down, frightened creature. It was she who held her head high and gave Jensen that predatory Great White smile. “I have never lost money on a venture before.” she admitted in a steady, calm voice. “You, Jake Jensen, have been a lesson. An expensive lesson.”

“But... Dr. Who...” Jensen couldn’t understand. He couldn’t grasp what she was saying. He couldn’t....

“Hackers.” she shook her head. “A rebellious sort by nature. Free spirits.” The Doctor shrugged. “Alas... lesson learned must also be paid for. Thus...” She pulled the trigger.

A heavy weight smashed into Jensen, slamming him back to the ground. For a moment the whole world was an explosion of white flashes as the back of his head bounced off the ground. As the world seemed to slow its spinning and come back in focus, Jensen found himself blinking up at Clay, laying across his chest.

“You okay?” Clay mumbled.

Jensen frowned. He flexed his muscles, wiggled his fingers, took a deep breath... Slowly he nodded. “Yea... I think...”

Clay smiled. Then he rolled off to one side with a painful hiss.

Jensen quickly sat up and looked at his Colonel.

Clay laid on the ground beside him, a growing red pool spreading across his midsection.

“No.” the hacker gasped. “No, no, no.... not you! Not any of you! It was supposed to be me! Just me!” he cried, scrambling out of his shirt and pressing it over the wound.

Clay grunted. “Don’t.” he gasped. “The... The Doctor... don’t forget....”

“Well, he has been quite the disturbance to my affairs.” the Doctor spoke as she came to stand over the two men.

“You shot him!” Jensen accused. He couldn’t tare his eyes from the blood that just kept flowing. 

“J...” Clay pulled at Jensen’s hand.

“No.” the Doctor corrected. “I shot you. The fool, as seems his practice, got in the way.”

The Colonel pulled at Jensen’s hands, pulling them from the bullet hole in his gut, and filling his bloody hands with something else.

She adjusted her aim. “Have no concerns. An easily corrected affair.”

But Jensen fired first.

The Doctor was thrown back and away, falling to the ground.

Jensen stared after her for eternity.

“J... Jake...”

He dropped Clay’s gun and quickly pressed down on the wound again. “Save your breath!” Jensen quickly told him. “You’ve been shot. You’re bleeding...”

Clay actually managed a chuckle, coughing up blood while he was at it. “No kidding.”

Jensen looked about frantically, screaming for help “Cougar! Cougs! Get over here! Cougar!”

“Jake... look at me...” Clay called to his boy.

“Stop talking. Just.... just lay still. Help’s coming.” Jensen assured. When he looked back down at his Colonel there were tears streaming down his cheeks. “Why did you do that? You weren’t supposed to be here! None of you were supposed to get hurt! What were you thinking?”

The wounded man smiled. “I was... was thinking... I couldn’t let them... hurt you again.... Never again!” He shook his head. “Never... never again....” he gasped, his eyes fluttering close.

“Clay! Please! No, no, no.....”

0o0o0o0o0o0


	22. Epilogue

0o0o0o0o0o0

Epilogue

o0o0o0o0o0o

He sat in the big chair with his knees pulled up to his chest, his one good arm wrapped around them, his other arm back in a sling. He rested his back on the padded rest, staring at the ceiling fan that thumped, thumped, thumped overhead.

That fan mesmerized him. He imagined that if he tilted his head just right, held his jaw at the right angle, the thump, thump of the fan sounded like gunfire.

Gunfire...  
Bullets striking flesh...  
Bodies hitting cobblestones...  
Pounding on a chest, demanding, begging for him to take one more breath...   
The slowing thumping of a heart beat as it pumps the last of a life’s essence through his fingers...

Thump...  
... thump...  
..... thump....  
....... thump......  
............ thump.......  
................... thump............

“stop it...”

Jensen frowned, tilting his head to one side as if he wondering if the voice he had just heard was real or just another thump, thump of the fan overhead. 

Like the voices yelling at him to let go...  
... “I got him, kid, I got him...”  
...... “Mi herminito, you must let go....”  
.......... “Where’s Fairway?! Where the fuck is he?....”  
.............. “Don’t you die on me, you bastard! Don’t you leave me alone with these pups.....”

“Jensen!”

The hacker blinked, dropping his eyes to see the man laying in the hospital bed beside him. 

“Stop! It!” Colonel Franklin Clay growled through clenched teeth, one hand clutched at his heavily bandaged gut, the other flexing his fingers in the light blanket pulled up to his waist. Despite being at his weakest, his eyes were strong and focused, glaring at his kid with a mama bear’s fierceness. 

“You’re awake.” Jensen observed as if noticing it was two o’clock or that grass was green.

Clay took a deep breath, flinched against the stab of pain as the muscles around his wound flexed. Blinking away a sudden shine in his eyes, he tried to focus again on his kid. “J...” he managed to grind out. “You okay?”

Jensen stared at him for a moment. Then he started to chuckle. Then he threw back his head and laughed. He laughed until he was gasping for breath, doubling up on himself.

Clay frowned. “J?” When the kid started to hiccup, the Colonel started to get worried. “Hey! Jensen!” He struggled to get an elbow under him, but had to stop as pain hit him like a punch in the gut, steeling the air right from his lungs. He squeezed his eyes against the nausea that rode the wave of pain, but he couldn’t bite back the groan.

Instantly the laughter stopped. Dropping his feet to the floor, Jensen rolled his chair to the head of the bed. “Clay?” came a panicked squeak.

Falling back in the bed, the Colonel took a moment to catch his breath, before opening his eyes again and looking up at the big, watery blue eyes looking down at him. “I’m okay... J.... Fine.” he tried to assure, but his voice came out in between coughs and sputters.

“You were shot!” Jensen said it as if making an accusation.

Clay tried to smile at him. “Yea... happens now... and again.” He closed his eyes again as he shifted his weight, trying to find a more comfortable position. Damn it all how bullets had a nasty habit of making everything uncomfortable!

“It’s not funny.” the boy protested, actually pouting.

The Colonel looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “I wasn’t the one cracking a rib laughing a moment ago.” he pointed out. When the kid dropped his eyes, Clay wanted to know “What’s so funny?”

Jensen shrugged his good shoulder. “You were shot.”

Another eyebrow raised. “Ha, ha.” he growled out.

“No, I mean...” Jensen bit his lip trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to say. “You got shot! And you want to know if I’m okay!” He shrugged again. “You gonna still be asking me that when we’re laying the flag over your box?” He was sounding more hurt than amused now.

Clay didn’t hesitate to bob his head. “What they pay me the big bucks for.”

Jensen huffed. “Yea? Well, you need a raise!”

Clay started to chuckle, but winced as his wound once more protested. “Oh, for fuck sake...” he snarled through grinding teeth. When the pain receded to an ache, he looked up at Jensen again. “Same question: you okay?” he wanted to know.

The hacker gave a small smile. “Yea. All ten fingers and seven toes.” 

Clay’s eyes narrowed, not entirely believing it. Still... “And the guys?”

“They’re good. On their never ending quest for green jello.” Jensen waved a hand at the bedside table where stood a half completed castle made from empty jello cups, including draw bridge and towers.

“Geez!” Clay gave a whistle at the display. “How long have I been out?”

“Only three days.” Jensen gave the castle an appraising look. “But, Nurse Sarah took away Roque’s shows when he started threatening to stab varies characters, so... you know... they really needed a hobby, and they really like jello.”

Clay smirked at that. He could just see those three: Roque slurping down jello, Pooch engineering everything to scale, Cougar designing the sniper nests...

“Clay?” came Jensen’s tiny voice.

Clay looked at the boy again.

“I’m sorry.” he mumbled, his eyes locked on some invisible spot on the blanket. “You... the guys... none of you were supposed to get hurt. You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”

The Colonel sighed. He had been wondering when this was going to hit. “J, look at me.” he said softly, though there was just enough command to his tone that he knew he would get a reaction.

Jensen’s eyes snapped up, always the good little soldier.

“You think losing you... again.... wouldn’t have hurt us? Wouldn’t have ripped our guts out?” he demanded. Despite wanting to be gentle, he couldn’t keep the growl from coming out. Yea, it hurt! It pissed him off! “You think it didn’t hurt worse than this fuckin’ bullet hole in my gut when they told us you were dead?” He reached out and grabbed his arm. “Jake, you are a part of us. Where you go, we go! What you suffer, we suffer! What battle you need to face... dammit, kid, we’re gonna be right there facing it with you! Beginning and end of story!” 

Jensen blinked at him, blinked again, then, in that snarky way of his, he noted “Well, that was poetic.”

Clay grinned. “Yea, alright, cyberpunk. But, hey!” His smile was gone as he tugged on the kid’s arm, making sure he had his attention. “You done running away from us, now?”

Corporal Jake Jensen looked his Colonel straight in the eye and promised “I’m done. I’m not going anywhere any more.”

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Loser for Sale  
The End

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, took forever to write those last chapters. Never was very good at ending stories, but there it is.  
> Hope you all are satisfied.  
> It was a fun ride. Looking forward to the next one.
> 
> Nighty, all!
> 
> ~~ The Chronicler


End file.
